Twenty Gold Coins
by The Magpie Igraine
Summary: Emma, a princess on the run, steals twenty gold coins in an attempt to escape the Enchanted Forest. When she's caught, she's forced to make a deal with a charming pirate: twenty kisses for twenty gold coins.
1. A kiss

Twenty Gold Coins

Emma, a princess on the run, steals twenty gold coins in an attempt to escape the Enchanted Forest. When she's caught, she's forced to make a deal with a charming pirate.

Yet another bar-wench Emma/pirate Hook smutty piece-of-smut. Multi-Chapter.

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"What was I thinking…what's wrong with me?" Emma muttered as a pair of lumbering sailors dragged her through the darkened streets. She bowed her head, not wanting any of the villagers to see the tears streaming down her muddied face.

She'd been caught. Finally been caught. After everything she went through to escape Regina and her black knights; after she'd been forced to leave her parents, flee the kingdom, live like a hunted animal in the forest—it was all for nothing. She was going to die at the hands of a few drunken pirates.

And all for twenty gold coins.

Her tattered dress fluttered around her ankles, catching the straw and soot piled high along the village lanes. The smell of the sea roused her and she found herself staring at a forest of masts and spars. Enormous white sails shook with the wind, flapping wildly, beating in time with her own heart.

They were hauling her towards The Black Swan, a seedy tavern huddled on the edge of the docks. It was a tumbledown inn that sat low against the murky water, veiled by the fog that crept over the harbor.

The odor of sawdust, ale and urine assaulted her senses as she was hauled through the creaking doors. After weeks of hiding in the forest, she almost fainted at the overwhelming smell of men. She could feel the eyes of the drunks and whores on her, grinning their toothless grins, taking in the sad sight of someone about to meet an untimely fate (one worse than even their own).

She felt some stairs beneath her and before she could get her footing she was tossed inside one of the cramped private rooms. The door slammed shut as she fell with a sickening thud. Scrambling to her feet, she clawed at the latch. But it was no use. No matter how much she scratched and pounded, the door wouldn't budge.

"Easy there lass. It's locked. There's no point in bruising those pretty hands of yours." The deep voice with an Irish brogue reverberated through her, and she shivered despite herself. She wasn't alone in the room. Of course she wasn't.

Blinking back hot tears, Emma turned to face her captor. She peered into the darkness, trying to distinguish shape from shadow. A few dying flames burned low in the fireplace, casting a faint amber light across the floorboards. At the far end of the room she could just make out the dark outline of a man standing against a moonlit window.

"So you're the sorry excuse for a thief who made off with my gold?" She heard him tsk-tsk. "Snatching the bag from my purser and tearing off into the forest before anyone knew what was happening… You almost got away. Almost. But not quite."

 _Almost got away but not quite..._ She wondered if that's what they'd put on her tombstone.

"And I have to say, the disguise was a nice touch. You were wearing a priest's cloak, weren't you? A long black one? One that covered up every lovely inch of you."

She nodded, wishing she had the cloak now. It was somewhere in the forest, caught in a mass of holly bushes she dove through to escape his men. She brushed the tangled blonde curls out of her face and pulled up the sleeves of the torn blouse that was hanging low off her shoulders. The swell of her breasts pressed against the filthy bodice with every breath. During her weeks of hiding her clothes had become rags, revealing more than they concealed. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't seem to cover herself.

A pair of blue eyes shimmered against the starlight and gooseflesh crawled over her skin. She could feel his eyes raking over her, lavishing his gaze on every exposed curve.

"Aye. The cloak was a wise decision. A lass who looks like you would've never escaped anyone's attention. But I'm glad to see you've cast it off. Now I can get a good look at you."

She crossed her arms over herself and met his gaze with more courage than she felt.

"Who are you?" he asked, still standing in the darkest part of the shadows.

"No one."

"Well that's just unfortunate for you, isn't it? Can't be easy being a no one." She saw a white glint and realized he was smiling. "Even a whore's got to have a name."

She leveled an imperious gaze at him. The pale green of her eyes met his dark blue depths. "I'm not a whore."

"No? Well then you're a thief. And a lousy one at that. Least whoring's an honest day's work."

"You're a pirate. What would you know about honest work?"

She heard him chuckle and the sound made her fists clench. "A bit brazen aren't you? Caught stealing my gold and yet you call me a thief… That makes you either foolish or brave. Haven't decided for myself yet."

"Neither have I," she muttered miserably.

"We'll have to see about that. Because now, you have a choice." He gestured to the bed behind her. "Sit."

"I don't want to sit."

"It wasn't a question Lovely. Sit. Now."

She crossed her arms over her chest and sat rigidly on the edge of the mattress, leaning forward so she could jump to her feet at a moment's notice. The small bed and a shabby desk were the sole furniture in the room. There were no decorations, no vases or books. Nothing she could use as a weapon or a means of escape.

He sauntered towards her, stepping into the faint amber light of the fireplace. She could make out his tall, well-built figure against the shadows, his long black coat making it more difficult than it need be. She saw broad shoulders and strong arms, jewels hanging from his neck and glistening from every ring on his fingers. The glow of the firelight didn't reach his face though; that was still veiled in darkness.

"It's simple really. You stole my gold. I want it back."

"I don't have it," she answered evenly. "It fell in the river when your men grabbed me."

"Did it? Ah, that pesky river." He obviously didn't believe her.

"You can ask them. They saw it happen."

"But it'd be easy, wouldn't it? To tuck the gold somewhere safe, then toss a bag of rocks into the water. So when you got the chance you could go back and claim your prize. That'd be clever of you, and I have a feeling you're cleverer than you look."

"I wish I were."

"Well if you can't repay me, I can hand you over to the local sheriff. Thieves usually have a price on their heads. I'm sure to get some of my money back that way."

"NO! You can't do that!" Emma thought about Nottingham, his love for the Evil Queen, how eager he'd be to throw her at Regina's feet, and how much he'd relish the rewards she'd lavish on him. And he'd seen her once, years ago. He might be able to recognize her…

"I _can_ do that, and I may. I haven't decided yet. It'd be much easier if you'd just return what's mine."

"I lost it. It fell in the river," she repeated through gritted teeth.

"Ah, of course it did."

"I'm not lying to you."

"Oh I think you are. But what bothers me more is that I still don't have my gold. Now what do you propose we do about that?"

"I don't…I don't know."

"Well let's put our heads together, shall we? Hmmmm. What to do…what to do…" He eased forward, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. Emma stared as the shadows receded and the firelight finally revealed him. He was younger than she expected—only a few years older than her (26 or 27 maybe). And handsome. Strikingly handsome. With tanned chiseled features, sea-colored eyes, and dark locks of hair curling around the collar of his long leather coat.

"Not polite to stare Lovely," he quipped, clearly enjoying her discomfort as she lowered her gaze to the floor.

"Not polite to imprison a girl either," she muttered.

"Then I suppose we both left our manners at the door." He took out a flask and eased it back, taking a long swig. "You're a bit of a brat, aren't you?" He wiped his mouth and offered the flask to her; some kind of pirate etiquette, she supposed.

Emma took it from him, ignoring the feel of his calloused fingers as he lightly brushed her hand. She wouldn't normally have accepted a drink from someone like him but her throat was cracked and painfully dry from sprinting away from his crew. She tipped it back and swallowed, trying not to react to the burning sensation setting fire to her throat.

Coughing and sputtering, she gasped for air. "What is that?"

"Rum. And a damned fine waste of it." He gestured at the amber line of liquid dripping down her front and into the valley of her breasts. She wiped the droplets away, her cheeks flaming red as he ran his tongue along his front teeth, clearly picturing replacing her fingers with his own…

"So it appears we're at an impasse. You owe me twenty gold pieces. And you say you can't pay. Again, what shall we do about it?"

"I don't know. I could…could…"

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish, but she stammered until she fell silent. She had no idea what to do. After Regina assumed power, her parents had gone into hiding. Emma herself was abandoned by her convoy weeks ago when the black knights attacked. She had no friends in this strange kingdom. She was alone. Penniless. And in debt to a pirate. She couldn't imagine a worse fate…

...until he knelt in front of her. She eyed the narrowing distance between them and could suddenly picture that worse fate. His knee brushed against hers and out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of silver.

A hook. His left hand was a hook.

"Killian Jones," she whispered, her throat going dry. "You're Killian Jones."

"Aye lass. So you've heard of me." His hook hovered over the swell of her breasts. The metal brushed against her skin, sweeping a stray blonde curl behind her shoulder. She shivered at the touch. She couldn't help it. It was so cold, colder than the river water, colder than the freezing rain that had drenched her for days.

"Why would a whore…" he paused when she shot him a spiteful look "…Sorry, _thief_ , want with twenty gold coins anyhow? You don't strike me as the greedy type."

"I need to secure a passage out of the realm."

"Must be very important business that takes you so far away. And to risk getting caught stealing in a place like The Black Swan... Men who drink here don't take thieving lightly." He held her eyes over his hook. "I should know, I'm one of them."

"I have to leave…I have to…" she fell silent. There was no possible way she could explain it to him. If he found out who she was or what she was running from, he would just turn her in and take the reward for himself.

"Oh I see. On the run are you?"

She nodded.

"No one to turn to? Friendless and utterly alone?"

She nodded again.

"My poor lovely lass." The metal edge brushed against her throat. She swallowed hard, trying to bite back the fear lashing through her.

"But you're a pretty girl. Maybe even damned pretty underneath all that dirt. There are other ways to raise the money. More pleasant ways. Much more pleasant," he added with an inviting grin.

She shot him a furious look.

"Oh that's right. You're not a whore. Wouldn't take money for sating a man's pleasure, would you?"

"No."

"…You'd just take his money," he finished for her.

"I didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice. And here's yours. You're going to pay me back what's mine. One way or the other. Now give me back my gold." He held out his hand, as if she could just toss the bag to him.

"I can't."

"Then shall I take you to the sheriff?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she shook her head.

"All right. So what are you prepared to do?"

She didn't answer. She couldn't. Even if he threatened to slit her throat right then and there, she could never bring herself to say the words. But she knew what he wanted, knew what he expected, knew what he was going to do to her...

He sighed. "You're making this harder than it has to be."

"I'm not trying to!" She couldn't keep the tears back anymore. They trickled down her cheeks, following the rum droplets that had stained her skin. She turned her head and looked away as her trembling fingers began to unlace the frayed knots holding her bodice together. She closed her eyes, expecting him bat her hands away and rip it from her body, to take what was owed to him from her own flesh.

It took a moment but his hand soon joined hers, which were shaking so hard that they were getting hopelessly tangled in the dingy strings. She waited to feel the material being torn from her...

...but instead he began lacing it back together, deftly fastening the ties she couldn't navigate with two hands.

"There there. You can stop crying now." His voice was low, but softer than before. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Though I'd dearly like to take you over my knee for being the imperious little brat you are."

She let out a sigh, not realizing she'd been holding her breath. A sob began to shake through her and she covered her mouth to muffle the sound.

He finished tying up the laces and eased back. "As you say, you're no whore. I thought perhaps all this harried innocence was an act, but I can see I was wrong. Besides, I don't take unwilling women to bed." He shrugged. "And it's a pity really. I was hoping you'd at least _try_ to seduce me. A clever thief would. She'd have given me a night I wouldn't forget and then we could both leave with a smile. Not you though. Have to make things difficult, don't you?"

Still shaking with sobs, Emma didn't answer. She could only see the tears welling in her eyes and the shadow of his hook against the firelight.

"But the fact of the matter is, you owe me Lovely. You lost my gold and I'm not about to let you walk out of here scot-free." He took a blonde strand and studied it in his hand. "Even if you do have the look of an angel about you."

"What do you want?" She asked in a hollow voice, wiping the tears from her eyes and watching the pirate uncertainly.

"Since you refuse to seduce me…and you are refusing, aren't you? You've definitely decided on that? Because I'm more than willing to reconsider the idea if you are…" He winked and smiled. The way he said it was friendly, almost like he was joking with her.

She shook her head slowly. "I don't think I'll be seducing you anytime soon."

He wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "I thought as much. But what do you say we make a deal. How about a kiss in lieu of …other payments."

"A kiss?" She echoed in a hollow voice. She stared at him, for the first time realizing how close they were. His lips were inches away from her own and she could feel his breath warming her throat. His blue eyes seemed softer now, losing their cold disdain as they traced the features of her face.

"Aye. It's not exactly improper. Ladies occasionally kiss the knights they favor, do they not?"

She nodded, licking her lips nervously. "Just one kiss?"

"If life were as fair as you Lovely, then perhaps. But no. Twenty. Twenty kisses for twenty gold coins."

"Twenty kisses," she repeated. She found herself staring at his mouth, his heavy-lidded eyes, the strong jaw and dangerous smile. He was handsome, that was certain. And there would be no shame in a few harmless kisses. Then she could be on her way. Far away from this horrible place, away from Regina and the dangers of the forest…

"All right," she nodded, wiping the remaining tears from her face. "Twenty kisses."

"Deal." He held out his hand and she shook it gently.

"Deal."

He gave a slight bow. "Shall we begin?"

"Now?" she asked, startled.

"Aye love. Now," he whispered, closing the distance between them.

Her breath caught in her throat as his fingertips lightly stroked her chin. His lips met hers, brushing softly against them. Her eyes opened wide at the sudden contact, their emerald sheen reflecting the shadowy light of the room. He cupped her face, giving her a tender kiss that was gentle, almost painful in its restraint. As she exhaled, her mouth parted and his tongue dipped lightly against her own. The contact lasted only a moment, but it sent a shivering trill through her. She felt him pull away, and a wave of relief washed over her as he put some much needed distance between them.

He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. Her mouth was now rubbed red as her breath hitched in her chest. An echo of desire reverberated deep inside her and a dark and hidden ache suddenly flared. It was a feeling that was warm and wanting and completely foreign.

She felt his hook against her thigh, toying with the thin material of her ragged skirt. The contact was no longer cold. Instead it suddenly seemed to burn the sensitive skin there.

His mouth grazed her ear as he leaned in and whispered: "And so my Lovely…that's one."

"That's one," she repeated. Her breath quickened and she had a sudden sensation of drowning, because she was certainly in over her head.


	2. A bath

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Chapter 2: A bath

(short chapter)

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Emma sank lower into the tub until the water rose above her head. Petals of lavender and primroses dotted the surface, filling the small space with a sweet fragrance she'd long forgotten.

After their kiss, the pirate had ordered a warm bath for her.

" _No offense Lovely, but you smell like the river. Let me rephrase that... You smell like the river vomited after a hard night of drinking and you rolled around in it_."

She'd shot him a hateful look but couldn't refuse him. At his command his men hustled her into a room which held a hot steaming tub. She scrambled to find an escape, but to no avail. The window was too small to climb through, and even if she could somehow manage it, there was a long steep drop to the cobblestone street below.

So now she lay in the bath, letting herself enjoy the hot water and sweet smelling flowers. She'd taken advantage of the coarse soap and washrag, scrubbing off the stains of the forest; washing away the dried blood from the scratches and scrapes she'd got scrambling up trees and ducking into hollow logs to avoid capture.

Living alone in the wilderness had been a nightmare—one of endlessly dark nights and freezing days and painful uncertainty. But sitting in the warm tub she was able to let her thoughts drift away from her terrifying weeks on the run…

…and to the notorious pirate waiting for her in the next room.

He was a strange sort of man, she decided. Handsome. Charming in an irritating, conceited, I'm-beautiful-and-dangerous kind of way. And also…no, she couldn't find a word for it. Not honorable. Not a gentleman. But not a villain either.

He could've taken her by force, overpowered her. He could've done anything to her. There was nothing to stop him. He could've slit her throat and tossed her corpse out the window. No one would've noticed or bothered to care about a nameless thief bleeding out on the docks.

Instead he struck a deal with her. Twenty kisses.

Actually nineteen now.

Her lips still burned with the memory of that first kiss. She unconsciously rubbed her thighs together under the warm water and let her hand rest against the swell of her breast. She'd been kissed before. She was nearly twenty years old after all. A few brave souls had tried to plant (what could be called) kisses on her. Each time she'd felt nothing but indifference or disgust.

With Killian Jones she felt…she felt…

 _Certainly not indifference_ , she decided as the dark warmth blossomed inside her again and her eyes fluttered shut. It sent a shiver through her, echoing in every part of her. She could still feel his lips on hers, gently pressing and teasing. A warm pulse began beating beneath her skin as her breath hitched. For a brief moment she imagined he was there now, hovering over her in the misty heat, his mouth brushing against hers, his hand dipping beneath the surface of the water, tracing her legs, finding the source of heat along her inner thighs and then…

The door suddenly swung open and any and all pleasant thoughts vanished as she ducked into the murky water. "Who's that?" she called over her shoulder. "Who's there?"

"Laundry service. Hahahahaha!" the shrill voice resounded through the small room. "I brought some clothes for you dear."

Emma sputtered as she sank lower into the bathwater. The large woman was wearing a gaudy black and white lace dress and sporting dark glossy ringlets. Smiling at her from the doorway, she carried an armful of clothing and dropped them in a heap beside the tub.

"The good Captain ordered some clothes be brought to you. Guess he wasn't too careful with what you were wearing eh? I mean…that hook of his. I imagine he just rips a dress to pieces to get what he wants." She sighed. "Wouldn't mind finding out for myself one of these days."

Emma ducked lower, trying to cover herself.

"So here's what I found…" she went on. "It wasn't easy considering the time of night, but I think they'll fit. But fair warning, if he tears through this lot you'll just have to wait until morning for another. I'm not going to be fetching and carrying all night just because he can't be bothered to find his way around a few fucking buttons."

The woman pulled out a flask and took a long swig. "I swear to Christ that man's trying to run me ragged. Wants new clothes for you and a room and dinner and fuck me, who knows what else. Probably the crown-fucking-jewels. Whatever you did to him honey, I want ya' to teach it to the rest of the girls. We could use a few more satisfied customers with deep pockets around her. Most of the men are long on their talk and short on their tips…and cocks. Hahahahaha." She cackled at her own joke, holding her ribs as her ringlet shook with her laughter.

"Well…" She dabbed at her watery eyes as she picked up Emma's old rags. "I'm off. Let me know if you need anything else love. Have a good night. And make him take his hook off before he comes to bed…or maybe just before he comes. Hahahahahahah!" Her own laughter followed her out the door, leaving a bewildered Emma to stare back and forth from the pile of new clothes to the closed door.

"Thank you," she said to the empty room.

Only the soft splashing of the bathwater answered her.


	3. 2nd and 3rd kiss

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Chapter: 2nd and 3rd kiss

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" _How do the women here manage it? They serve drinks in these things. And flirt and dance…I can't even breathe without bruising my spleen."_

Emma held her breath as she squeezed into the outfit the woman had brought. Though they were tight beyond belief, the clothes were warm and of good quality: a pink quilted skirt and black bodice and blouse. Undergarments and stockings were also provided and a deep green cloak lay at the bottom of the pile. She didn't bother putting that on, instead carrying it over her shoulder as if she were going for a jaunt through the village.

The bodice clung tightly to her waist and the blouse hung low on her chest, obviously made for a smaller woman. Not surprisingly, her breasts were once again on display, but she was beginning to think that was the point of all these peasant-style bodices and corsets. Although she was tired, uncomfortable, unable to breathe, and surrounded by the lowest-order of men, she emerged from the steaming bath room feeling cleaner and more human than she had in weeks.

Two hulking crewmen stood guard in the dimly-lit hallway. This time they were preoccupied, busy chatting up a couple of bar wenches who were tossing their glossy ringlets and pursing their lips invitingly.

Emma stepped forward, wondering if she should chance sneaking past them. In her new clothes she could blend in with the tavern folk and perhaps find her way out the front door…

And then what? Back into the frozen forest? To hide not only from Regina's conspirators but also an angry band of pirates? And what if she were caught? Killian Jones wouldn't smile and joke with her then, not after she'd broken their deal—he may not take an unwilling woman to bed but he'd certainly take her to the sheriff to get his gold back.

No, the best course of action would be to stay here, finish her (strange) dealings with the pirate captain and then be on her way. She headed towards the room with her head held high, taking a deep breath before she entered.

"Well, don't you clean up nicely?"

She heard his voice before she saw him. He was lounging on the small bed, his arm resting on a raised knee, his back against the wall. His eyes raked over her, taking in her clean fair skin and long damp hair curling and golden against the firelight.

"Thank you for the clothes," Emma replied softly, her voice hollow and tired.

"Thank you for wearing them." He gestured to the desk by the window. The fire was burning brighter in the grate and she could make out a plate full of bread, cheese, and slices of fruit. A bottle of wine and a full goblet sat fat and chilled nearby. "Go on now. Eat up."

She took a seat at the desk and began nibbling on a slice of bread. She ate carefully with slow bites, trying to keep herself from shoving whole pieces in her mouth. She'd lived on nothing but scraps and wild roots and berries for weeks. The thought of bread and wine nearly made her faint. She couldn't keep the look of sweet relief off her face. Gradually the need to showcase her table manners left her, and she began taking larger and larger bites of the delicious fare.

"Good?"

She nodded, unwilling to waste a moment talking when she could be eating.

"Is there anything else you want? I didn't know if there was something you especially liked."

"This is fine," she answered around a mouthful of cheese and bread. She washed it down with a long sip of the wine, wiping her mouth before repeating herself. "It's good. Thank you."

He nodded, his hook now busy carving designs of stars and swans into the wall above the bed. Emma watched him while she ate. He had shed his long dark coat and vest. Now he was clad in a simple black shirt and leather trousers that showed off his long limbs and broad shoulders. He was clearly strong, young and wealthy—if the jewels on his necklaces and rings were any indication…

"You're staring Lovely. Like something you see?"

Her glance quickly fell to the empty plate in front of her. "No."

"No? Ouch. Now I'm a bit offended by that." He winked. "You know how to cut a man to his quick, don't you brat?"

She rolled her eyes and muttered an apology as she took another hearty sip of the wine. It was strong but good, with rich flavors of blackberry and clover. She downed it before pouring herself another. She quickly finished that off as well, wiping the dark liquid away with her sleeve and sighing contently.

He gestured to the bottle. "Do you mind sharing that?"

She shook her head, feeling every bit the bar wench as she brought the bottle and poured a full cup for him. He sat up and shifted over, motioning for her to sit beside him when she handed him the wine.

He took a long drink, holding her eyes over the goblet as he drained nearly half of it. "It's nice. Sweet and fresh."

"I've never had anything like it," she agreed, taking back the cup. Her voice came out thick for some reason and she took a few hurried sips, finishing the rest of it. Her head was now swimming with warmth and strong wine, but she didn't mind. She felt lighter. Less careworn. It was…nice.

Not bothering to refill the goblet, he sipped from the bottle and handed it to her. "Feel better?"

"Yes…I feel… better." The words came to her slowly, as if she had to reach for them through a fog. She followed his lead and drank from the bottle. The wine was going straight to her head. It made her vision fuzzy and her insides warm. Everything was becoming hazy and distant. The nightmare of the forest, Regina's demonic plans for her family, the evil fate awaiting her if she were captured…it all seemed so far away.

She took another long swig from the bottle, guzzling down a good portion of its contents.

"Easy there lass."

"Eeesy thare lass," Emma tried to imitate his soft Irish accent. She clapped a hand over her mouth as soon as she said it. She had no idea where that came from. It was a ridiculous thing to do…And then of course she began to laugh. The giggles bubbled up through her and it was such a strange sound that for a moment she couldn't believe it was coming from her. She couldn't remember the last time she laughed.

"Seems I was right. I thought the wine might be a tad too strong for you."

"Tad too strrronggg for yah," she echoed, butchering his brogue again. "I like it. It tastes like blackberries."

"Aye. But it's potent stuff and the last thing this place needs is a thief whose manners are as uncultivated as her alcohol tolerance."

"My manners are just fine thank you."

"Now now. You'd better slow down or you're gonna regret it in morning."

"I'm fine. I don't need drinking lessons from a pirate. Or…well…I guess they would be pretty good at drinking so maybe that's not…" she trailed off as her thoughts became muddled. "Wait…what was I saying?"

"You were being a brat, and a drunk one at that. Which is even less charming."

"I'm not drunk. And I'm not a brat."

"You are and you are…but then what else can I call you? You won't tell me your name."

"My name is Emma. NO! Wait… Not Emma." She shook her head, fighting against the dizzying fog of the wine, trying to think of a fake name. A name that wasn't Emma. She looked at the wall beside them and found herself staring into an array of constellations and swans.

"Swan," she said at last. "Call me Swan."

"Swan." He turned the name over in his mind. He took a lock of her blonde hair in his hand; the feathery curl turned white against the moonlight. "Seems to suit you. My lovely Swan…"

They sat in silence, drinking from the bottle, taking slow sips and passing it back and forth. Emma felt a welcomed relief coursing through her as the blackberry brew muddled her senses and left her feeling loose, relaxed and utterly untroubled.

She watched him as he drank, his lips making small smacking sounds each time they left the bottle. The memory of what else those lips could do made her insides flutter as the heat of the room and the strong wine seemed to hit her at once.

Eventually she was the one to finish the wine, easing it back until the dark liquid was gone. Setting the empty bottle on the floor, she somehow sensed a change in the air. The pirate's eyes narrowed and darkened as he took another blonde strand from her shoulder, stroking the soft curl between his fingers.

"Come here Swan," he said quietly, locking her eyes with his own.

Biting her lip, she shifted closer to him. His hook scraped against her lower back as he eased her forward until she was flush against him. She found herself planted on his lap, her soft curves resting against the hard planes of his chest. She had to put her hands on his shoulders to keep from falling against him.

Her mouth went dry at the feel of his body against hers. She'd never been this close to a man before, and certainly not one as handsome or well-built. What made it worse was the way he kept staring at her, studying her as he would an unknown constellation. His eyes traced her face and then fell to the swell of her breasts pressed against her blouse. They lingered there for a moment as the color rose in her cheeks.

He finally raised his gaze to hers, his sea-colored eyes boring into her own pale green depths. He traced her bottom lip with his thumb and smiled when he felt a quick intake of her breath.

"Now my Swan, I think it's time I claim my second kiss."

She nodded nervously.

"This time I want you to be the one to kiss me. Do you understand?"

It was softly spoken, but it was a command.

Swallowing hard, Emma leaned forward until she could feel his breath flutter the curls around her shoulders. Tilting her head, she hesitantly pressed her lips to his, her eyes never leaving his as their mouths gently brushed. She stayed still, unsure of what to do next. After a few fluttering heartbeats she felt his lips move against hers, coaxing her, gently issuing an unspoken invitation. She followed his lead, moving with him as their mouths began to meet with increasing urgency. Her breath hitched as an unexpected warmth spread through her. As she let out a shaky sigh, her lips parted and his tongue softly touched hers.

It was gentle and strange and just as intoxicating as the wine. She felt him stoke and stroke her mouth, slowly exploring her, tasting her. Soon she was awash in a completely new sensation—one that was honeyed, sweet and richly feminine. He lifted and moved her arms around his neck so she was fully flush against him. Her hands found the back of his head and gripped fistfuls of his hair as the wanting feeling intensified. She could taste the sharp sugary wine on his lips, feel the languid sensation of his tongue sliding against hers, sense the heat of their contact welling up as a steady rhythm began to hum between them. The sensations he was creating reverberated through her, lighting a low flame beneath her skin that seemed to flicker with an unmistakable pulse.

A soft moan broke the silence of the room. It took her a moment to realize the sound was coming from her.

The shock of it shook her out of whatever spell she'd been under. She pushed herself away, covering her mouth in embarrassment.

"That's two," he said quietly, never taking his eyes off her.

"Two," she repeated, her lips burning and her body pulsing. She stared stonily ahead as the strange new sensations swept through her—the tense pull, the aching pulse, the heat resonating beneath her skin. She had to fight to keep her composure. She didn't want him to know how much he affected her, if he didn't already.

"Something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she said evenly. "Nothing at all."

"Are you sure?" She felt his fingers in her hair, stroking the curls that were tumbling around her shoulders. "You've gone pale. There's not a drop of color left on your fair face."

She shook her head and tried to say "I'm fine," but the words didn't rise above a whisper. It was just as well. It would have been a lie. She wasn't fine. She'd never been farther from it.

"I need…" she muttered. "I think…I need…"

"What do you need love?" he asked softly.

 _I have no earthly idea…_

"I need…some air." She pushed herself away, nearly falling off the bed as she went to the wide window and began pulling at the latch. It wouldn't budge no matter how much she shoved or tugged.

She saw his dark outline reflected in the glass as he approached her. With a simple flick, he released the latch and opened the creaking window. The bracing night air rushed in as she leaned against the dusty windowsill. She breathed deeply, taking in the strong clean scent of the sea and howling winds that signaled an approaching storm. Gradually the searing pulse within her died away and the spreading warmth was replaced by a wintery chill.

They stood in silence for some time, watching the moonlight play off the bay, listening to the wind whistle and the dim fire crackle against the grate. Sails and masts spanned the horizon, floating in the total darkness of the sky and sea. The wind howled over the rooftops, ice was already forming around the windowsill and the glass slightly fogged with the heat of the room.

There was no noise from the docks or any sort of thrum in the tavern below. Emma thought it must be very late, even for the drunks or amorous sailors, and realized she was tired, so very tired. And confused. She wanted to be left alone; yet she didn't want him to leave. She wanted him to stop staring at her; she never wanted him to stop staring at her.

She glanced sideways at him. "It feels good …I mean, the breeze. Not the…" she gestured back to the bed. "Not that it doesn't feel…um…good…" she muttered, feeling her cheeks color again.

"You're bleeding Swan."

She turned and looked at him, puzzled.

He gestured to her. "Your hand. It's bleeding."

Emma looked at her palm and found herself staring at an angry red slash stained with blood. She must have sliced it when she tried to open the window. A sharp metal shard caught the firelight near the latch, and she assumed that was the cause.

Staring dumbly at the wound, she watched the blood gather and drip. It was only when the pirate took her by the elbow and led her back to the bed that she realized she would have to do something about it.

"Here. Hold still." He knelt in front of her and took a handkerchief from his pocket. Opening his silver flask, he soaked the fabric with rum. "This might hurt," he said softly as he began cleaning the wound.

She registered the sharp sting but couldn't bring herself to react to it. To any of it. She felt tired, confused, and drained, as if the ability to stay awake was dripping from her as freely as her blood.

"You must think this is pretty funny," she muttered, her voice hollow and expressionless.

"By and large I don't consider bleeding funny." He eyed her curiously. "And why would you say that?"

She shrugged, too tired to be anything but honest. "Patching up some pathetic little thief who can't open a window without it being a disaster… this obviously isn't the night you had planned."

He continued to dab at the cut. "I wouldn't call this a _disaster_. It's just a flesh wound; And as for my night, I have to say I've enjoyed myself. Immensely." He grinned. "It isn't every day I get to come to the rescue of a beautiful and mysterious maiden."

"I'm not either of those things…and how exactly did you rescue me? Aren't you the one who had me dragged through the streets and thrown at your feet?"

"Well, I never said I was good at it."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't need to be rescued."

"I've never met anyone in more need of rescuing. And someone has to do it. Why not me?"

"Because you're a bloodthirsty pirate."

"And you're a doe-eyed little brat. What difference does that make?"

"I don't want your help."

"Well you're getting it. You're getting a room of your own and plenty of food to keep you healthy and enough wine to keep you pleasant. At least while I'm in port, which should be a few weeks longer."

"Why?" She watched as he laced the handkerchief around her hand, swallowing hard as he tightened the knot with his teeth.

He held her eyes over the bandage. "Because you taste like springtime. Like sunshine and starlight and everything that's bright and good. It's not something you'd soon forget after seeing nothing but hard bitter winters…" He paused, running his thumb over her bottom lip. "And of course you're a brat. A sweet, beguiling little brat. Glorious to kiss, glorious to hold with your comely little body and sharp tongue that puts me in my place. All that sweet honeyed innocence...I'm not about to let that slip through my fingers."

"Oh," she said softly. She didn't know what else to say.

"Besides, I intend to claim every single one of my kisses. A girl like you should be kissed often. And by someone who knows how."

She stared at her wrapped hand, wanting to say something clever but unable to. She was too tired for banter, too weary for anything but run-of-the-mill coherence and not-so-charming honesty. "I'm tired. I think I want to sleep now."

"Fine Lovely. I'll leave you be." He gestured towards the door. "I've taken the room across the hall. There's a bolt on your door and a man standing guard."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I didn't think you would. The guard's here to keep you safe. You'll be safe here, you know that don't you?"

"Safe?"

He nodded. "From whatever you're running from. No one will get near you." He tucked a curl behind her ear. "I won't let anyone hurt you. I swear I won't. Whatever else you think of me, I want you to know I mean that."

"Thank you," she muttered shyly, trying to sound grateful.

"Goodnight Swan." He gave a slight bow and carefully picked up her uninjured hand. He pressed a gentle kiss into the palm. She watched his lips move over her skin, trying not to react to the feel of it. "And I believe that makes three," he muttered against her palm.

Nodding in agreement, her fingers stroked the curl of his lip, grazing his dark stubble and strong jawline. Watching the way he leaned into her touch, closing his eyes and nuzzling her hand, she felt a small nameless hope take root in her heart.

"Three," she repeated, somehow knowing that her cheeks were flushed with more than the heat of the room.


	4. 4th and 5th kiss

Chapter Four: 4th and 5th kiss

This chapter takes place the next day. I borrow a bit from _Tangled._ (Sorry?)

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As the tavern began to fill up around them, Emma watched Killian Jones across the table.

He looked different in these early evening hours. The pinks and golds of the sunset slowly filled the dingy dining room, giving him more color and warmth than the stark moonlight of the night before. His eyes seemed somehow bluer, like the ocean before a storm. His hair was more chestnut brown than black. He looked younger too, less imposing and fierce...

"Careful Swan. You keeping staring at me like that, I might start to think you fancy me." He winked at her before going back to skimming the papers spread out across the table.

She rolled her eyes and dug into the steaming bowl of stew in front of her.

Emma had slept most of the day away, leisurely awaking in a warm bed and dry clothes for the first time in weeks. When she finally emerged from her room, yawning and pleasantly drowsy, one of his men led her downstairs to the empty tavern where the captain was eating dinner and looking over some maps and documents. He'd motioned for her to join him and ordered another bowl be brought to her.

Sighing with pleasure, Emma dipped a spoon into the stew. She didn't know what to make of a place like The Black Swan, but at least the food was decent. The stew was thick and boiling hot. Even though it was mostly filled with potato skins and carrots, she savored every bite. She dragged pieces of the hard rye bread over the spicy broth, enjoying her first warm meal in countless weeks.

She ate quietly, enjoying every mouthful, watching the sun sink low over the bay and thinking of nothing more than the meal in front of her until she scooped the last traces of stew with the last bit of bread. She drained the goblet and wiped her mouth before sitting back contently in her chair.

"Thank the Gods," she muttered.

The pirate looked up at her and smiled. "Good?"

Emma nodded, feeling wonderfully full. It was a sensation she'd never take for granted again.

He went back to reading, and she found herself once again tracing the features of his face, admiring the black locks curling along his collar, the glint of deep blue in his eyes, the dark scruff against the strong lines of his rugged jaw…

"You're staring again Swan."

She muttered an apology and quickly looked out the window at the forest of masts and spars floating against the sunset. She had to admit she did stare at him more than she should, but she couldn't help it. A lot of women probably couldn't help it.

He folded up the documents then tucked them into the pocket of his long leather coat. "I have to head out. How would you like a little fresh air?"

"Fresh air? You mean go outside?"

"Aye. Outside. That's where they keep it… I have business to attend to and would like the pleasure of your company. You wouldn't refuse me that much would you?"

She thought a moment, weighing the decision. It'd be better to stay here of course, tucked safely away in her room. Someone might recognize her if she went out and about through the village; then again no one would expect her to be strolling the boulevards with a famous pirate. And if she refused to leave the inn, he might begin to wonder why. He might begin to suspect who she was and why she was hiding…

Emma nodded, deciding at last. "Yes, I'll go with you. I don't mind."

"Good. It isn't often I get to have such a vision of loveliness on my arm."

"Stop it," she muttered, suppressing a smile.

"Yeah, I probably won't." He pulled out the chair for her and waited for her to fetch her cloak before leading her towards the door.

They emerged from the Black Swan's candlelit din into the noisy village streets. The sun was sinking low over the bay, casting the ships' sails in a pale pink hue as they fluttered above the harbor. The waters were green and spansive as the fading light began to disappear beyond the horizon.

Even though dusk was falling, the town seemed to be coming to life. The sidewalk torches held garlands of white and pink winter flowers and burned brightly above the crowded streets. Droves of laughing townsfolk were headed towards the main square. She stopped short, taking in the lively scene.

"What's going on?" she asked. She had to raise her voice over the music that was now thrumming through the air. "Is it a festival?"

"No love. This is what happens when kingdoms crumble."

Emma froze. "What do you mean?"

"The Northern Kingdom. There's a new queen who's decided to consolidate her power and close all the ports. As you can imagine, it's playing havoc with the shipping lines. Merchants and ferries have been stranded all along the coast. And what you're seeing is the result: refugees trying like hell to survive in these dark times." He offered his arm. "Come on. Let's join the natives."

"I think I already have," Emma muttered, threading her arm through his as he led her along the sidewalk.

As they got closer to the center to town, she noticed the crowds were centered around the various makeshift booths of merchants and artists. Children shoveled candy into their mouths and couples drank deep from tankards of ale.

"These don't look like dark times," Emma said quietly.

He nodded. "The upside is there's cheap liquor and discounted goods to be had. It's not much of a silver lining, but we'll take what we can get."

"I suppose so..."

"Not to mention the port's overrun with merchants and ferries. A ship like mine isn't likely to be searched. We can get repairs done and sell our wares without the harbormasters poking their noses where they don't belong. I'm going to take advantage of it while I can."

"That's nice," Emma replied in a hollow voice. She wondered how many of the people flooding the streets were once loyal to her parents, once living happily and peacefully in their decimated kingdom.

"Yeah, I thought so too," he said matter-of-factly, guiding her through the crowds. Most of the villagers made way for the captain and the handful of hulking men (she supposed they were members of his crew) who fanned out around them.

A shivering breeze carried the greasy scent of syrupy pancakes and sweet pastries being offered at several stands. In the midst of the vendors and visitors, gypsy girls danced with streaming ribbons, singers crooned from street corners, and merchants offered glinting jewelry and bags of bright candy. A scene from a fairytale was being performed on a makeshift stage. Children craned their necks to see the dragons and knights and distressed damsels flail about on cheap scenery.

She gradually sensed the looks from the townspeople watching them go by. Apparently knights and dragons couldn't compete with the sight of a famous pirate and his formidable crew.

Her hand tightened on his arm and he looked at her, concern etched on his features. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she muttered. A shiver of fear went through her as she thought about what would happen if anyone happened to recognize her for what she was…a fugitive from the North with a price on her head.

"You cold Lovely?"

She shook her head, her eyes fixed on the ground in front of her.

He eased her closer. "If you're cold I can get you something—a hot cider maybe. Or do you need a better cloak? They're some decent shops up ahead…"

"I'm fine. Thank you."

"You're not fine. You're shaking."

"I'm just not used to everyone staring at me."

"I have a hard time believing that. What's wrong with the menfolk where you're from? Were they all blind? What… too busy tilling the fields to notice a pretty face?"

"No." _The menfolk were too busy getting slaughtered by an evil queen to notice much of anything_. "I just don't like that kind of attention."

"I can see that. Come on then, stick close to me. Perhaps I'm pretty enough to attract their wandering eyes."

She smiled wryly. "I'm sure you are."

"Aye. But I suppose it's a cross I can bear."

A crowd had gathered in front of them, and with a practiced signal Killian Jones stopped his men from plowing through the mass of people. He took her hand and led her to the center of the spectacle. Some hairdressers were putting on a demonstration. They were doing up a young girl's hair in a complicated plait—twisting and braiding and dotting it with pink and white winter flowers and streaming ribbons. It looked like a meadow was blooming amongst the dark locks.

"It's nice, isn't it?" He motioned at the finished product as the crowd offered applause and coins to the buxom group of hairdressers. "It'd look well enough on you."

"I don't really bother with my hair much these days." _What with fleeing for my life and being hunted down like an animal in the forest_ …

The pirate nudged her good-naturedly. "But do you like it?"

"Yes, I do," she reluctantly admitted. "It's pretty."

"Well then it's settled." He waved to one of the hairdressers hovering closest to them. He tossed some money at the simpering girl and smiled. "Whatever the lass wants, give it to her. Let's see you work your talents on her tangle of curls."

"I don't need my hair braided!" Emma protested.

"I know you don't need it. It's about what you _want_. Now be a good little brat and get your hair done. Who knows? You might enjoy yourself."

She squared her shoulders and fought back her rising impatience. After all, her hair didn't matter. It was the very least of her concerns. She wanted to argue with him, wanted to take his money and toss it back to him. But she didn't. Anything that altered her appearance should be welcomed; it might make the difference between escaping the realm and getting burned at the stake.

And besides he meant it in a kind way, thinking she'd be pleased. It was generous. Sweet really.

"Thank you," she muttered, trying her best to sound grateful.

"Thank me later." He chucked her chin. "Well, I'm off. I have business to attend to. You behave yourself."

He turned to the bevy of hairdressers who were looking him over with avid interest. "Get to work girls. Make my lovely Swan more beautiful, if that's even possible."

A chorus of sighs and giggles swelled to a ridiculous crescendo as he departed amongst a fluttering of lashes and inviting grins.

Emma stared stonily ahead, pretending to notice none of it, trying to keep her composure as the girls swarmed around her, combing and separating the long pale locks tumbling down to her waist. Two of the brutes who had accompanied them stayed by her side, watching the proceedings with bored detachment. They seemed more interested in eyeing the cleavage of the hairdressers than keeping any kind of watch on her.

"He's handsome." She heard one girl whisper to another. "Very handsome. I tell you, blue eyes will be the death of me. I can't say 'no' to a man who has them."

Another sighed. "Why would you want to say 'no' to a man like that? Why would anyone want to refuse Killian Jones _anything_?"

"He can pillage and plunder me any day." A peal of giggles erupted.

"Mmmmm. I know what you mean. Tall, dark and disgustingly gorgeous… I'd lick him til there was nothing left but a belt buckle and a hook."

The girls broke out in another chorus of laughter. Gritting her teeth as a heated flush arose on her cheeks, Emma kept her eyes trained on the ground. She wouldn't face what she was feeling: a nameless, niggling type of anger that in-no-way-shape-or-form resembled jealously.

In no way at all.

In any way.

No…just…no.

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Nearly an hour later they were done with her. She felt the pulling and pricking and tugging slow to a stop. A giggling girl held up a mirror and showed her what they'd accomplished.

Emma hated to admit it, but the result really was beautiful. Her hair was pulled and twisted in a thick braid falling down her back, with flowers and ribbons artfully arranged throughout the golden folds. She'd never seen anything quite as pretty.

"Thank you. It's lovely."

"Thank _you_." One of the hairdressers grinned. "And tell the handsome Captain he's welcome to come by our shop any time. We'll take good care of him."

"I bet you would," Emma muttered, heading into the streets with the two hulking guards trailing behind her.

There was a buzzing excitement in the crowd as necks craned to see the new fairy tale being enacted onstage; this one involved a witch casting a spell on a fairy princess. Some children covered in green paint and dressed as pixies danced around the performers, spinning and flailing and falling over each other.

Onlookers peeled oranges and grapefruits, littering the streets with the golden rinds and filling the air with the sharp smell of citrus. Overhead a girl dressed as a forest nymph began singing from a rooftop. Metal clattered like raindrops as onlookers tossed up coins to her. The awnings began to flutter like ship sails as the winter wind shivered in the air, carrying notes of music and laughter.

The noise and cheerfulness almost made Emma forget herself. No one had recognized her, and as the liquor flowed more freely and the darkness of evening fell, no one was likely to. Here she felt safely invisible; she wasn't hunted or living under the constant threat of dark curses and harrowing death. She was just some nameless girl wandering through the village square, no different than anyone else, watching couples dance and drink and children chase each through the crowds.

Through the torchlight she could just make out Killian Jones approaching from the opposite end of the town square. With his broad shoulders and handsome features, he stood out even amongst the boisterous merchants and colorful performers. He was laughing with his burly crewmen and drinking deeply from a tankard of ale. Whatever business he attended to was obviously profitable, judging by his jaunty step and smile.

She locked eyes with him and waved, his warm grin and wink creating a small trill of pleasure that she refused to acknowledge. Villagers (the ones who were still sober anyway) parted as he made his way towards her.

Killian hopped on the curb next to her. He offered her a sip from the large tankard. "Hello Swan. I've been looking for you. Quite a crowd isn't it?"

She nodded and gestured to the braid fluttering to her waist. "What do you think? Do you like it?"

"It's very pretty." He ran his finger along the decorated strands. "It suits you."

She shrugged and drank deeply from the tankard. Whatever was inside tasted sweet and frothy and had layers of spice throughout.

"What is this?" she asked, wiping the foam from her lips.

"It's ginger beer and rum. In these parts they call it a 'Dark and Stormy.'" He wiped a bit of foam from her chin. "Goes down easy, doesn't it?"

She smacked her lips. "It's good."

"I'll get you one, come on."

As they made their way along the streets, she was relieved to find the crowds no longer staring. The novelty of seeing the pirates had apparently worn off and the villagers were too intent on drinking and dancing to notice them. Emma linked her arm with his as they shared another sweet frothy beer and took in the sights around them. Spice merchants, jewelers, artists… they went from booth to booth looking over the tables of exotic wares.

Through it all, she was hoping to hear news from Northern Kingdom, some kind of clue as to what happened to her parents or what Regina had planned for the kingdom. But everyone she spoke to seemed to have little idea as to what was happening in the overrun lands. There were rumors of course—that the royal family had been slaughtered like sheep, that Snow White was dead and King David had secretly married Regina, that Regina had plans to turn the kingdom into a winterish wonderland rivaling Arendelle…

Though Emma knew most of it was nonsense, she held out hope that someone knew something remotely accurate. But in the end, there was no definite news and little hope of getting any. She fought back tears as they proceeded along the sidewalk, wondering if she'd ever hear anything of her parents, much less ever see them again.

"What's wrong lass?" Killian Jones asked gently, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

"Nothing," she muttered. She turned away as tears trickled down her cheeks.

"Ah, you're a worse liar than you are a thief, and that's saying something."

She waved him away, and to his credit he didn't press her. He just squeezed her hand and led her to a crowd gathered near a rooftop. One of the nymphs had begun to sing and was attracting an audience. It was a sweet, plaintive song in French, with elegant phrases like _le count Roland_ , _oltre mer,_ and _la fin del secle ki nus est en presen_ …

Emma closed her eyes, listening to the sad melody. "I've never heard that song before."

"That? It's an old one. Popular in these parts."

"What's it about?"

The pirate paused a moment, trying to make out the lyrics. "It's about a maiden. A young frightened maiden."

"Frightened of what?"

"Well she's lost and far from home. She's been driven from her land and forced to live in a terrifying forest."

"Really?"

He nodded. "She's also a brat who can't hold her liquor…"

"Stop it," Emma replied, shoving him playfully, smiling despite the tears in her eyes.

"I'm just translating." He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close. "Now hush, this is the good part. You see, this particular maiden is beautiful. The most beautiful in all the realms."

"Is she?" Emma feigned surprise.

"Aye that she is." He wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "A sweet beguiling little creature. It's said that her eyes are like pale emeralds, like meadows blooming in the bonny spring."

"Please…just…no…" she fought back a smile.

"…and her lips taste of rainwater warmed by the midday sun."

"Stop it."

"… her hair's spun gold, like amber moonlight against wildflowers."

"The terrifying forest is looking pretty good right now."

"…her smile's a winter sunrise, touched by frost and unforgettable in its beauty."

She shook her head and laughed. "You know, I think I liked it better in French."

"Swan, do you want to know what the song's about or not?"

"Fine." She grinned, settling against him. "What happened to the maiden?"

"Well, she gave her heart to a sailor…"

"I thought you said she was lost?"

"Right…And while she's busy being lost, she gives her heart to a poor lonely sailor. And he takes it and he buries it on a deserted island. To keep it safe."

"Naturally. Good plan."

"But now she wants it back and she has to find him, because until she finds her beloved sailor, she'll never know what love truly is."

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Is that really what the song is about?"

He gave a slight shrug. "Damned if I know. I don't speak French,"

Emma clapped a hand over her mouth and let out a laugh. "You're horrible!"

"I know," he replied, tossing a coin to the singer. They made their way along the sidewalks, sidestepping the crowds. "It's actually an ancient ballad. About a hero who's betrayed and dies gloriously in battle…although personally I prefer my own version."

"Well I don't."

"Aye but you're smiling, so I suppose the bad poetry's worth something." His hand found hers, and she held it tightly as they strolled through the square.

"But yours isn't real."

"What? A lost maiden can't fall in love with a lonely sailor? Stranger things have been known to happen my Lovely."

She shrugged and smiled, relieved that her brimming tears no longer threatened to fall. The wave of despair and hopelessness she'd felt only minutes before had receded, and she let herself lean on him, clasping his arm as it came around her waist, taking comfort in the strong steady feel of him against her.

By now they were close to the inn, having made a full circle around the town. The pirate led her through a quiet street toward the Black Swan. They went up a back staircase and soon they were in the dimly lit hallway outside her door.

Standing alone in the darkness, Emma suddenly felt nervous. She wrung her hands and bit her lip, amazed at how quickly the cheerful mood had changed. There was a tense pull now, a heightened awareness of him, a low thrum that ran like a river current between them. She didn't know what to call it—a kind of simmering intensity that came to life whenever they were alone together.

She hesitantly raised her eyes to him, studying the striking features which were outlined by moonlit shadows.

"You're staring again Swan," he said softy. His eyes held hers even in the darkness.

"Maybe I am," she murmured with more courage than she felt.

"See something you like?"

She lowered her gaze and bit back a snide comment. Something stopped her from making a joke or denying it, some sense that he'd see through the lie. Instead she swallowed hard and gave a slight nod: "Yes. I see something I like."

"Do you now?" He eased forward and his hand gently cupped her cheek, tracing her lips with his thumb. "Do you really Lovely?"

She nodded again, feeling the heat coming off his body along with the crisp scent of the sea that always clung to him. Without thinking twice she slowly circled her arms around his neck as her mouth found his in the darkness. She pressed her lips to his softly, hesitantly, as if she expected him to pull away. If he was surprised, he didn't show it. He gathered her to him and returned the kiss tenderly, his mouth caressing her own, brushing gently against her.

With a sigh she parted her lips and deepened the kiss, letting the feel of him against her and inside her envelop her senses. He tasted like ginger and sweet spices. Like rum and hot cider. The familiar warmth blossomed beneath her skin and she melted against him, nipping and teasing and tasting him. Her fingers tangled in the mess of his hair, gripping his soft black locks as his hold on her tightened. She groaned as the heat of their contact began to build between them and surrendered herself to this sweet sumptuous kiss that burned through her with a searing intensity.

She eventually eased away with a contented sigh, resting her head on his shoulder. Her arms were still around him, his lips tasting her throat, her hands lost in his disheveled hair.

"That's four," he whispered against her skin.

"Four," she echoed quietly.

"Shall we make it five? Four's not a number I'm particularly fond of," he murmured as he guided her lips back to his own. He captured her mouth once again, claiming it in a heated embrace that left her breathless.

She gripped his collar as their lips brushed over and over again. A dark heat began to build, welling up inside her, burning her even as she shivered. She clung to him as his mouth raked over hers, tasting her and claiming her; first gently then roughly, slowly then quickly. She found herself lost in a kiss that was as changing as the sea and just as enticing.

She broke away only when her lungs screamed for air, surfacing as if she'd been tossed beneath the waves.

"That's five Swan," he breathed against her lips. His body was flush against her, his hand tripping over the swell of her breasts, teasing the fabric of her blouse as his lips teased her own.

"Five," she repeated, knowing her voice was just as unsteady. She gripped his collar and found she had to stop herself from taking his hand and dragging it over her skin, pressing it to where she needed it most…

At that moment Emma was distinctly aware of two voices warring within her. One told her to stay with him here in the hallway, to take what he was offering her, to seize the moment and the pleasure he promised. It was a compelling argument. Very compelling. Especially when it came to the pirate and the long, hard length of his body pressing against her own, promising more kisses, more touches, more embraces that set her skin afire.

But then the other voice, the _right_ voice, the _proper_ voice, told her that the best course of action would be to leave now, to push him away and duck inside the safety of her room before she found herself past a point where she could no longer control herself. Which would probably be sooner than later.

With a resigned sigh, she gently unwound herself from him and eased open the door behind her.

"Goodnight Captain," she muttered as she disappeared into the darkness of her room, missing the feel of him even before she'd even said goodbye.

Emma closed the door tightly behind her. Her breath was hitching, her heart fluttering, and a deep blush flooded her cheeks. Her body was screaming in protest even before the heat of his embrace had left her.

She took a deep breath and sank to the dusty floor. Resting her chin against her knees, she hugged herself, burying her face in her arms. Her breath heaved and her body shivered. She found herself wishing he were with her, wishing she could still feel his strong steady body against her own.

"Five. Five kisses so far," she murmured to the empty room. Only the plaintive notes of the distant street music and the lapping of the endless ocean answered her.

With five kisses, the lost maiden was in danger of losing her heart to the lonely sailor.

And Emma knew such stories only ended happily in fairytales.


	5. Dreams

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Chapter 5: Dreams

This chapter takes place a few days later. (I know this is all fluffy-smutty nonsense so thanks for the reviews. They have been more than kind. Much love.)

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" _That's five Swan," the captain breathed against her lips, his voice barely above a whisper. His body was flush against hers, his hand tripping over the swell of her breasts, teasing the fabric of her blouse as his lips teased her own._

" _Five," Emma echoed. Her voice sounded just as unsteady. She gripped his collar and found she had to stop herself from taking his hand and dragging it over her skin, pressing it to where she needed it most._

 _She was quite aware they were in plain sight, standing in the hallway of The Black Swan. The distant music of the streets drifted to them along with the laughter of the townsfolk still drinking and merrymaking in the square._

 _Her hand fumbled against the latch behind her, reaching and tugging as she frantically tried to open her bedroom door. Suddenly the handle gave way and she was falling back into the darkness of the room. Gripping the captain by the collar, she hauled him in with her._

" _Six," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck, angling herself so she could feel the long hard length of his body against hers. His arm locked around her waist and his sighing breath warmed her lips. She felt a shiver up her spine as he kissed her roughly, possessively, raking his lips over hers._

 _Breaking away with a gasp, Emma nodded to the gaping doorway. "The door's still open Captain," she reminded him in a low voice._

 _She heard him kick the door closed behind him and heard the sound of clothes falling to the floor as he shed his long leather coat. With a quick flick of his finger the clasp of her cloak gave way, pooling noiselessly at her feet._

 _"Seven," his voice was strained as he pulled her back to him. His lips found her throat as his hand rested against the material of her blouse, groping the swell of her breast, searing her with his touch as his tongue tasted her flesh._ _She blushed and eased back, biting her lip as bright fissions of pleasure burned through her._

 _"Now who said you could do that?" she asked quietly._

 _He grinned as his eyes held hers. "No one. Pirate, remember?"_

" _Oh_ _I remember."_

" _Aye, and I'll make sure that you do."_

 _Emma could only nod absently when his hand ventured lower and cupped her backside, bringing her flush against him. She gripped fistfuls of his hair and held him to her. The hard lines of his chest created a delicious friction with her own soft curves. The_ _hot pulsing need that was already pressing against her skin became more heated and urgent as his caresses grew rougher. His teeth raked over her throat, leaving tiny marks against her already tender flesh._

 _The captain paused for a moment and pulled away, his steel blue eyes boring into her soft green depths._ " _Tell me to stop Lovely. Say the word and I will."_

 _Emma looked away shyly and shook her head. "I don't want to stop."_

" _You have to tell me, my Swan. Tell me if you don't want this."_

 _She nodded, her eyes closing tightly as she did. "I want this." The whispered plea was nearly drowned out by the wind rattling outside the window, lost somewhere between the midnight-colored ocean and sea-gray sky._

 _And then his lips were upon hers, his eyes glinting like sapphires against the moonlight as his tongue did wicked things within her mouth. A sudden lashing need overtook them both, breaking like the waves over the shore. Her right hand gripped the back of his head while the other found the buttons on his shirt and roughly undid them, nearly tearing the garment in her haste. She gasped when he suddenly lifted her and set her on the small desk behind them. He pulled at the ties of her skirts, loosening the ribbons and lace that were already strained as she twisted towards him. She felt him ease apart her thighs and guide her legs around his waist. His hips found friction with her own as they moved against each other._

" _Say it again," he whispered._

" _I want this," she repeated breathlessly as his hand slid under her skirts..._

A door slammed somewhere and shook the walls around her.

"Dammit Rose…that's the last time I let you borrow a pair of my stockings! Look at this lot. I'll be darning them for a week because of your fucking troll hands."

"Fuck you and your stockings Tilly. If there's a tear in them then it's your own doing not mine."

"How am I supposed to get up there and sing when I look like a Goddamn leper?"

"I wouldn't call what you do _singing_ _._ "

"Then you've got a tin ear to go with your rusty twat."

The barmaids' argument outside the bath room awoke Emma from her fitful sleep. Her eyes flew open as she sat up in the tub, gasping and trying to catch her breath. Bathwater rippled and slushed around her at the sudden movements. She shook her head, willing herself to breathe, forcing herself to forget the dream that was turning her several shades of scarlet.

Around her the bath room was quiet and calm as if mocking her own shameful turmoil. The hot steam of the tub curled towards the ceiling and veiled the room in a misty heat. The small window let in the slanted light of the evening as the shattered remains of a pink and orange sunset disappeared beyond the emerald waters of the bay.

Emma saw none of it. Instead she buried her face in her hands and told herself it was all a dream, only a dream and that she was alone. Quite safely alone. Her cheeks were on fire, her legs trembled, and her inner thighs ached with an embarrassing need. She waited for her shaking body to still and the small flutters of pleasure to pass.

" _Calm down,"_ she commanded herself, spouting phrases that sounded more like Granny's grizzled utterances than her own. _"This is all very foolish…and not good. In no way good. Just bad. Very bad. And sinful. Very sinful and unabashedly wicked…_

 _Just. Not. Good._

 _No. Just…No."_

Vivid dreams were nothing new to her. During those horrible weeks in the forest, nightmares had plagued her—large shadowed figures of black knights emerging out of the darkness, their dagger crests and evil smiles glinting against the moonlight as they reached for her. The dreams usually ended with fiery visions of being burned at the stake, with flames licking her heels while Regina looked on, cackling at her final triumph. Emma would wake up to the sound of her own blood-curdling screams and the endless darkness of the woods.

And now, for the first time in weeks, there were no nightmares. No visions of hellfire or black knights lurking in the shadows.

No. Now she was awakened by…something else. Strange sensations that cast her body into dark flames and made her shiver even as she burned.

Over the last few days there had been several. All of them heated, vivid dreams that featured Killian Jones, rakish and handsome, cradling her on his lap or sweeping her up in his arms, teasing her with his touch, his hand twisting her golden strands between his long elegant fingers as he raked his lips over hers, taking what he wanted from her more than willing flesh...

" _That's enough Emma,"_ she scolded herself, forcing herself to forget them. Although her dreams about the captain were as intoxicating as wine, as pleasurable as slipping into a warm bath, as sinful as the man's smile, she knew she ought not enjoy them.

Covering herself with a rag, she crawled out of the tub and began to dry off. The rough material turned her flushed skin a shade darker as her shaking hands somehow managed to twist her hair into a damp braid. While the moon rose over the harbor, she battled with the ties of her bodice and own her shameful secret urges.

She was suddenly very grateful that Killian Jones had been gone these last few days. He'd spent most of his time down at the docks and only returned to the inn to snatch a few hours of sleep. Since their last kiss, she'd actually seen very little of him. He checked on her once in a while, making sure she had enough books and needlework to keep her busy and was warm and comfortable in her little room. Occasionally he brought presents: a new fur-lined cloak, a silver braided necklace, heavier blankets for her bed, and pencils and paper for her to sketch with.

But he hadn't claimed anymore kisses. He'd instead taken to chucking her chin or running his hand through her hair in a friendly way whenever he saw her…

" _Which is a good thing,"_ she reminded herself sternly, straightening her skirts. _"A very good thing. You shouldn't want to kiss him. You shouldn't want_ _him_ _."_

Emma knew what she was feeling was just a fleeting attraction; some kind of sad and pathetic desire borne out of his unexpected kindness to her. After all, he didn't care for her. He wasn't a suitor. He wasn't courting her and he never would. She certainly wasn't going to give her heart to a man who'd desert her as soon as his curiosity was sated and he was done amusing himself with her.

Because that's all she was to him: an amusement. A debt. A passing interest that would run its course. She was like the merchants and performers stranded here in town, just something for the villagers to amuse themselves with while the ports were closed and the winter storms loomed. Soon the stranded travelers would be on their way, and so would she. She'd find sanctuary somewhere and he'd find adventure on the high seas. That was their journey and nothing would change that.

Whatever attraction she might have felt was beside the point. There was no permanent or steadfast affection between them, and she'd be foolish to let herself think there was. And she wasn't foolish. She refused to be.

Between being brave or foolish, she'd choose to be brave every time.

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Damp and still shaking, Emma stepped into the dim hallway. A small window at the end of the corridor let in the faint light of the evening. The winter winds rattled the windowpane; the smell of snow hung heavy in the evening air. She rubbed her arms and shivered. Compared to the warm heat of the bath room, the dark corridor was drafty and cold.

She wasn't surprised to find a crowd gathered around the doorway of the captain's room. There always seemed to be a line of rough-looking men waiting to speak to him. It had been that way that all week.

As she studied the large looming figures, Emma saw a few knife handles jutting out of their belts and the outline of flasks beneath their vests. With their scarred faces and dark expressions, she could tell these were hardened and weather-beaten sailors, the kind that carried the smell of the sea and the scent of blood and rum wherever they went.

Emma quietly made her way to her room, keeping to the shadows. She didn't feel herself in any danger from the crew. Not really. The few times she'd seen them, they never paid her any mind. She suspected it was due to the captain's command more than any indifference to the women that frequented the Black Swan. She'd seen enough of them cajole and flirt with the barmaids to know they were certainly interested in female company.

Whatever the reason, Emma was grateful they ignored her. She wouldn't know what she would do if one of the brutes grabbed ahold of her or offered her coins to do unspeakable acts.

She quietly crept towards her room, relieved that the hallways here were dark and poorly lit. The crewmen probably wouldn't see her as she wrestled with the sticking latch on her door…

"Hello there beautiful," the honeyed voice came out of the shadows and she felt large fingers wrap round her wrist. Without thinking twice, she curled her free hand into a fist and whirled around, punching her assailant hard in the center of his chest. She registered a sharp pain in her fingers as she struck an iron mass of muscle.

"Damn it Lovely!" She heard the captain's voice as she struggled to pull herself free. "Take it easy…it's just me…"

Emma stilled when she realized who was holding her hand.

"Oh Captain…I'm so sorry…" she stammered, her fist ringing with pain as the sound of booming laughter filled the hallway. The crewmen were looking on, holding their sides as they cackled and hacked. "Gods I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you."

Killian Jones chuckled and released her, rubbing the spot in the center of his red vest where her fist landed. "Why should you apologize Swan? It was a damned decent punch. No reason to be sorry about that."

"I didn't know… I thought…I don't know what I thought." She shook her head and looked miserably at her bruised hand. _The first man you've ever cared for…and you go and punch him. Well done Emma. Really, truly well done._

"It's all right Lovely." He smiled in a friendly way and chucked her chin. "I like a girl who's not afraid to throw a punch. Even if it's occasionally in my direction."

"That's good to know." She sighed, shaking her aching fingers. "I suppose that means I'm forgiven."

"Oh I wouldn't go so far as to say that…" he stilled her hand as it fumbled with the latch. "Have a drink with me."

"What?"

"You heard me quite clearly. I've hardly seen you for days… Sup with me. Tonight. It's the least you can do after hauling off and hitting me."

"I don't think…I haven't really…" she stammered. "I don't know if I can."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really? And why not?"

"Because I...just...can't," she said feebly. Even to her own ears, the protest sounded fairly pathetic.

The captain seemed to think so as well. "Of course you can, and furthermore I insist. Come on Lovely. We're both fond of the wine here... So why not share a table with me. Keep me company awhile."

"Now?" She motioned to the men standing in front of his room, obviously waiting for him.

"In an hour. I'll come and fetch you."

Emma bit her lip and looked away, knowing she couldn't hide from the man forever. And maybe spending some time with him would end this sad little pash. Perhaps she'd discover some flaw that would render him completely unattractive and undesirable…

 _Right Emma, just go on and tell yourself that_ , she muttered miserably as she cast her eyes over him, taking in the charming smile and soft sea-colored eyes. A lock of dark hair fell against his forehead, and she had to still her hand from brushing the adorable little curl away.

A resigned sigh escaped her lips. "Yes Captain. I'd be happy to have a drink with you."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it Swan." He looked genuinely pleased. "I'll see you soon."

She nodded as she finally managed to open her door.

"Oh and Lovely…"

"Yes?"

"Next time, don't plant your feet. Extend your arm and watch your follow-through." He punched the air and sent her a wink, his smile doing more damage than any punch ever could.

"I'll keep that in mind," she replied quietly as he made his way towards his room.

The rumbled laughter and cackle of the crewmen echoed in the hallway as he greeted them.

"Don't know what you lot are laughing about," the captain said as he shoved a few of the men in a good-natured way. "She's got a better punch than half you idiots."

"Och, say it ain't so Captain," one of the men cried. They proceeded to push and hit each other in a violent show of comradery.

Another one nodded: "You're lucky. My girl once hit me with a stew pot. And all because I was a few days late for dinner."

Laughter followed the group downstairs and into the tavern, but all Emma could hear was the beating of her own heart. She stood alone in the half-light of the dim hallway. Her hand rested on the latch, still burning with the memory of his touch. A secret sinful longing coursed through her, along with a few whispered warnings about being alone with such a man...

As the two urges warred within her, she had a feeling that her decision to resist the good captain would be sorely tested tonight.


	6. Tangled

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Chapter 6: Tangled

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"Calm down," Emma told herself sternly _._ "It's only a drink. Just a drink for goodness sake. It's fine. Everything's going to be fine."

Combing through her tangled curls, she studied her dark reflection in the window. In the distance, the moon climbed higher over the horizon while the freezing wind carried the smell of frost inland from the sea. Her breath puffed against the windowpane and cast a misty halo around her reflection. Resting a hand against the cold glass, she brought it to her cheek to cool the flush that had turned her scarlet.

It was humiliating—she'd been blushing and trembling ever since the captain left her at the door. Taking a calming breath, she scolded herself for being so utterly ridiculous.

"Oh, honestly… Stop acting like some silly girl fresh out of the schoolroom. I'm more than capable of spending an evening with a good-looking man without turning into some blushing, giggling idiot."

Emma continued to roughly comb out her curls, hating the fact that they grew wilder and frizzier with each stroke. She picked and pulled through the strands with her fingers, trying to flatten the mess until they were teased and mussed and nearly twice as wild as usual. Realizing it was hopeless, she gave up with a sigh.

Taming her hair was proving just as difficult as choosing a dress. She'd changed twice so far, unsure of how she wanted to look for him this evening. Her closet was full of clothes now. All of them brought by barmaids and obviously more to their taste—trimmed with tawdry lace and ribbons and in the brightest pinks and purples imaginable. Avoiding anything too low-cut or form-fitted, she settled on a plain lavender skirt and tan blouse. The brown leather bodice she chose was new and well crafted, with tiny bronze hooks that caught its array of laces. It was the most demure out of all the outfits (which meant the swell of her breasts and the curve of her waist were only somewhat accentuated).

Emma shook her head miserably as she studied her dark reflection in the window. Although she'd taken some care with her clothes and hair, it was all for nothing: her curls were still springy and wild, her skin flushed and blotchy, and her clothes were ill-fitting and obviously not made for her. No matter what she did, she'd never compare to the pretty barmaids who flounced around the tavern with their glossy ringlets and pouty painted faces, who were somehow able to bewitch men with just a flutter of their eyelashes and a swish of their hips...

"In any case, what does it matter?" she said in a nonchalant voice as she tried to smooth out the mess of her hair _._ "I don't care what I look like or what he thinks of me. It's only a drink or two. It's nothing.

I can handle this."

With a determined air, Emma tossed the comb aside and squared her shoulders as if bracing for battle. And she certainly wasn't going to wait for the captain to come and _fetch_ her. She didn't need to be fetched. She was perfectly capable of seeing herself across a hallway for God's sake.

"I can handle this," she muttered as she headed towards the door _._ "It's nothing. I can handle this."

She said it over and over again, hoping that repeating herself would somehow make it true.

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The sound of snoring greeted Emma as she stepped into the hallway. As usual there was a large crewman standing guard. Only this one seemed to be asleep, napping on a teetering chair by the stairwell. His hands cradled a large jagged knife and an open flask. He looked peaceful…and still somehow frightening.

Not wanting to rouse the guard, she quietly crept towards the captain's room. The door was open a bit and she could hear the crackle of a fireplace coming from inside. Stepping forward, she peered into the dimly lit space.

Emma could just make Killian Jones out through the shadows and starlight.

He was alone, leaning over a table. His tall shadowed figure was outlined against the firelight as he studied an array of maps and charts. He paused to sip a glass of wine. The rosy liquid turned red against the firelight and left a light sheen on his lips.

Instead of knocking, her hand came to rest silently on the door frame and she found herself watching him from the safety of the shadows. Standing against the firelight, the captain was dark and undeniably beautiful... a black swan in his own right. His chestnut hair was unkempt and tousled, curling against the collar of his shirt. The rugged features of his face were tempered by light sea-colored eyes and cupid-bow lips. He was wearing his usual leather trousers and black billowing shirt. She couldn't help but notice that the buttons weren't completely fastened. The material seemed to hang off his broad shoulders, revealing as much as it concealed.

Emma nibbled her bottom lip and nervously tugged at the ties of her bodice. Her eyes drifted down his front, lingering over the rippling lines of his chest. The hard muscles grew taut as he breathed, causing the jewels of his necklaces to glint and shine against the firelight. Tall and strong with chiseled arms and a sculpted torso, he looked as though he'd just stepped out of a romantic sea-faring storybook. The kind with ravished maidens and fearsome pirate-kings and all manner of fairytale misadventure…

 _Stop it Emma,_ she scolded herself. _Just stop it. You're being ridiculous. He's not…_ she trailed off when her elbow nudged the door. The creaking noise cut through the silence and the captain looked up, his eyes finding hers in the darkness.

"Oh it's you Swan. Come in."

Ignoring the blush coloring her cheeks and the small flutters in her stomach, she eased forward. Her footsteps echoed across the floorboards as the heavy door closed behind her.

Suddenly she was alone with him. He stood in front of her, leaning casually against a chair. His eyes held hers against the firelight as he greeted her.

"Hello Lovely."

"Good evening Captain," she replied calmly. "How are you?"

"Better now." He motioned for her to come closer. "Thought I said I'd come and get you.

"I believe I'm quite capable of walking across a hallway on my own."

"I've no doubt you are. And how many men did you punch along the way?"

She stared at him. "None."

He grinned. "Well you're improving then."

Emma sent him a sweet smile and went to stand by the table. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. The evening isn't over yet and I've been working on my follow-through."

He shook his head and laughed, eyeing her with approval. She couldn't help but notice how much she liked the sound of it. Not to mention the look of him, what with all that bronze skin glowing against the firelight.

Although her head was held high and her expression cold and disinterested, she was acutely aware she was anything but—she'd already spied on him, admired him in his half-dressed state and was now nibbling her lip and nervously toying with the ties of her bodice.

"Stop fidgeting and have a drink Swan," he chuckled quietly and motioned to the wine on the table.

"I'm not fidgeting," she protested with a frown and stilled her hands. Pouring herself a glass, she took a few hurried sips, barely tasting the cherry and currant brew as he began doing up the remaining buttons on his shirt.

Emma looked around the room, trying to distract herself from the thought of him dressing. It was the first time she'd been in his quarters and was surprised to find it was much like hers—the fireplace was of the same dull stone and the walls were the same sickly shade of brown. The few differences lay in the decorations. Maps and books were piled on the table and some lay in a heap in a corner. A clay pot sat on the fireplace mantel, burning incense and sandalwood. But the bed covers and pillows were what caught her eye. It was obvious he'd brought his own. They were of a deep red, billowing material that swallowed the bed whole, the kind better suited to a villa than this shabby little room, the kind a person could drown in, get lost in for days…

…And thoughts about his bed were certainly not something she needed to entertain at the moment.

"So," his voice cut through the silence, "have you decided to seduce me after all?"

"Of course not!" she cried as she turned to face him.

He stepped towards her, a smile spreading across his lips. "You sure about that Lovely?"

"Yes I'm sure!"

He gestured to her. "Then what the hell are you doing?"

"What do you mean? I'm not doing anything. I haven't done…oh dear Gods," she trailed off, looking down at herself. She'd been nervously tugging and worrying the strings of her bodice and somehow she'd managed to unhook several strands. The loose ties hung limply down her front in a hopeless tangle.

 _Yes. Obviously he doesn't affect you in the least. Well done. And why not just traipse into his room after dark and start undressing in front of him? Oh wait, you've already done that._

 _Good plan Emma._

 _Great, great plan._

"I don't um…I didn't realize…" she stammered. She set her glass aside and frantically tried to fix the garment.

His head tilted curiously as he watched her shaking hands. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm fine. Everything's fine." She fumbled with the ties, trying to keep her voice as calm as she could.

"Been sleeping well, have you?"

"Yes I did. I always do. It's a nice quiet room," she rambled as her shaking hands tried to pull at the threads, unable to guide them through the narrow hooks. "I've never slept so close to the ocean before. Or for that matter, over a tavern. The sounds are soothing. The sounds of the waves I mean. They're peaceful once you get used to them…"

After tugging helplessly over and over again, she froze when she felt his fingers still hers. Her breath caught in her throat as he eased closer, so close she could feel a lock of his hair brush against her forehead.

Her hands fell away as he took the laces from her, curling and smoothing the ties. He wound them between his fingers in a single fluid motion. She felt the tug and pull against her sides, felt the material tighten around her, enveloping her curves in an intimate embrace as he began to lace up her front.

"You were shaking," he said softly, offering an explanation as to why he was now lacing her up.

"Yes, well…I'm not…not really used to a man watching me dress."

"I'm relieved to hear it."

She didn't answer as she watched him lace the ties through the tiny latches. It was fascinating the way his long elegant fingers deftly worked at her waist, crossing and threading the material. Every time his hand brushed against her body, the contact seemed to burn through her. Once or twice he held a strand in his teeth and tugged a bit. The sight of it did strange things to her as her cheeks colored and her fists clenched.

 _Get a hold of yourself,_ she commanded quietly. _You're fine. Everything's fine. He's not going to sweep you up in his arms or pull you into his lap or undress you with his teeth…_

 _Dammit_ , she sighed as a shiver went through her. That was precisely the sort of image she needed to avoid at the moment. She remained rigid and silent until he gave a few pulls and then tied her off with a neat little bow.

Studying the skillfully laced threads, Emma ran her fingers along the tidy crisscrossed strands. And it was all done with one hand.

"That's actually fairly impressive Captain."

"I'm even better at taking them off. I don't mind demonstrating that either…" He winked as he reached for her.

She swatted his hand away and took a step back, suppressing a smile. "I think we should just leave it as it is."

"Ah you're no fun. But what else should I expect? Coming in here to tempt me with your loose ribbons and wild curls. It's enough to drive a man to drink."

She nodded to the glasses on the table. "It looks like you're already drinking."

"Not nearly enough." He poured out some more wine and held her eyes as he toasted her. Followed his lead, she tipped the glass back, feeling better as the wine warmed her and took the edge off her nervousness. She poured herself another, downing it quickly. Too quickly.

"Easy there lass."

"Eeeasy thare lass," she echoed, imitating his accent perfectly.

For a moment he looked impressed. "Mmmm. Not bad. You've been practicing."

"Thank ya' dearie," she replied. The brogue came naturally now. She'd picked up a few phrases from listening to the barmaids and the crewmen milling in the hallways. "May God grant ya' mercy and bless ya' freely."

"Ah, careful now me Lovely. You'll be making me miss meh' homeland if yeh' be keeping tha' up."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," she said quietly as she took a seat at the table.

A knock at the door echoed across the room as a giggling barmaid brought in another few bottles of wine and some bread and fruit on a tray. The captain removed the maps from the table while the serving girl opened another bottle, making sure to display her ample cleavage as she smiled flirtatiously and fluttered her long lashes at him.

Emma turned away with an indifferent shrug, trying to ignore the giggling girl (she also tried to ignore the overwhelming urge to toss a wine bottle at her simpering head). After the barmaid and her heaving bosom were gone, he pulled out a chair for himself and sat beside her.

Handing her a glass, the captain raised his in a toast. "Here's to my Swan. A bit of springtime even as the winter storms roll in. Seems Fate's taken pity on a poor sailor."

"To Fate." Emma clinked her glass against his with a resigned smile. Perhaps fate would take pity on her as well; perhaps after a few drinks all his character flaws would appear and render the captain completely undesirable.

 _Right Emma_ , she muttered. _And perhaps Regina's black heart is really filled with rainbows and sunshine and she'll start befriending woodland creatures._

 _Yes. Good luck with that._

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The evening had been…pleasant.

That was the only word Emma could use to describe it. They ate and drank and chatted quietly until the clocks chimed midnight. They talked about the village, about his ship's repairs, about the books he'd brought her and his various travels. He taught her some words in Gaelic and demonstrated a few other languages he'd picked up over the years. She felt relaxed and perfectly at ease in his company. A small part of her wished she were more surprised about that—the fact that he was charming and attentive, pleasing to talk to and not-at-all unpleasant to look at wasn't entirely unexpected.

"So how are you liking The Black Swan so far?" he asked, pouring out another glass for her.

"Well it's certainly a strange sort of place, but my room's comfortable. And the food's decent." She shrugged. "I'm grateful to be here really."

"I'm glad to hear it. Truth be told, they're not really known for their hospitality."

"No…" Emma said thoughtfully, swirling the glass in her hands, watching the red liquid spin and settle. "I suppose they're more famous for their strong wine and pretty barmaids than anything else."

"Well, some consider them pretty... of course they don't have a patch on you."

She sent him a pointed look. "Stop it."

He grinned. "Ah make me."

"I wish you wouldn't say things like that."

"And why not?"

"It makes me uncomfortable. I know the other girls seem to like it, but I don't."

He tilted his head. "What other girls?"

"The girls here. The ones that are always hanging about in the hallway and outside your door." She bit her lip, knowing how petty and jealous she was sounding but was somehow unable to stop herself. "I'm surprised they haven't tried climbing through your window or hiding under your floorboards."

He let out a good-natured laugh. "I haven't noticed anyone attempting that…but if they're fond of anything, it's my gold. The women here couldn't care less about me. If I hadn't the money to pay them, they wouldn't spit on me if I were on fire."

"Stop it. You know they like you. Every girl you meet seems helpless against your charms." She gave a mockingly-sweet smile. "I suppose it's the price you pay for being a devilishly-handsome pirate."

"Personally I prefer dashing rapscallion."

She chuckled even as she rolled her eyes.

"So every girl likes me?" He hummed and considered her words thoughtfully, tapping his chin. "Hmmm. You're a girl…is this your sad, sorry way of telling me that _you_ like me?"

"No," she mumbled before taking a shaky sip of her wine.

"Liar." He gave a knowing smile. "You're fond of me. It'd be adorable if you weren't such a brat about it."

"I'm not a liar and I'm not a brat."

"I think you just proved my point admirably on both counts."

Emma shook her head as she poured out more wine, aware of the simmering tension now building between them. A pleasant warmth settled beneath her skin, but she couldn't decide if it was from the wine or the pirate's closeness. "You know Captain, you have a bad habit of assuming a lot things about me."

"Oh I have a lot of bad habits, most of which you know nothing about."

She looked him over, taking in the deadly-looking hook and the flirtatious grin. "I bet I can guess a few."

"And I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't. Of course then I'd have to learn some of your own… which might be fun given the right circumstances."

She sent him an innocent look. "But you already know all mine: drinking," she held up the wine, "consorting with pirates," she gestured between them, "stealing gold from said pirates…I don't think I need to go on."

"Well I wish you would. This is fascinating. I can't decide whether I'm frightened or falling in love... It's an odd feeling." He finished off another glass of wine and gestured at the bottles on the table. "And so my Lovely, that's nearly the last of this lot. Shall we open another bottle?"

She shook her head, hating that her insides still fluttered from his mention of falling in love. "No, I think I've had enough."

"Can I get you something else? A brandy? Some coffee?"

Emma refused both and nibbled her lip. A nervous niggling sensation settled in her stomach now that the evening was coming to an end. "I don't think so."

"Well, then I suppose that only leaves one thing left to do..."

"Oh, is this the part where I punch you?" She sent him a sweet smile.

He laughed and shook his head. "That's entirely up to you, isn't it? Personally I prefer to end the evening on a more pleasant note."

"Of course," she replied calmly, or at least more calmly than she felt. She smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle in her skirt to hide her shaking hands. "I suppose you want a kiss or two."

He gave a half-smile as his eyes glittered against the firelight. "I wouldn't be opposed to it my Swan."

"Fine," she answered, her voice indifferent and her head held high as she stood up and stepped towards him. She couldn't help that the blood drained from her face as she drew closer or that her fingernails dug into her palm as he gently pulled her into his lap.

Once cradled against him, the façade of indifference quickly began to crumble. The feel of his hard body against hers, the fog of the wine, the heat of the room—it all left her breathless and lightheaded.

Emma braced her hands on his shoulders, trying to keep herself upright. She was close enough to feel the warmth of his breath and smell the clover soap he'd used earlier that day. His hook rested against her waist, casually toying with the fabric of her skirt. She shivered at the tug and scrape of it. The affectionate contact did strange things to her as she watched the metal catch the faint light.

"You're shaking again."

"No I'm not," she replied quietly.

"Nervous are you?"

"No," she lied. "Why should I be nervous?"

"Here, have another drink," he said softly and offered her a glass. She sipped it slowly, struggling to swallow as her throat was suddenly dry.

He began rubbing comforting circles on her back as she drank. "Do you like the wine?"

"It's good." She forced a smile. "Cherry and currants, isn't it? It's strong and sweet. I like it."

"Just like my Swan…strong and sweet."

She took another sip to hide her blush. "I wouldn't say that."

"I would. There's color in your cheeks and a fine light in your eyes." He traced her chin with a teasing finger. "A few more days of rest and I daresay I won't recognize you."

Ignoring the fiery trail his touch left on her skin, she shook her head. "I suppose I owe that to you."

"I didn't have much of a choice in the matter, did I? Wouldn't be much use to you if I kept you in rags and forced you to sleep on a fireplace hearth."

"After spending a month in the forest, a fireplace hearth would've been heaven."

"Well I'll have to keep that in mind the next time I come to your rescue."

"Let's hope that won't be necessary."

He tucked a loose curl behind her ear and gave her a heart-stopping smile. "Oh let's hope it is. I've quite enjoyed this endeavor of ours so far."

Emma lowered her eyes to the cup in her hand, watching the wine inside shake as her hands trembled. The secret sinful urges she'd tried so hard to ignore began to build as she stole a long lingering look over him. Her fingers itched to trace the chiseled lines of his face and the cupid-bow curl of his lip, graze the dark scruff that gave him a shadowed, dangerous look even in the soft firelight. The blue jewels hanging from his neck caught the low flames of the fire and shimmered back at her, matching the glint of his own ocean-colored eyes.

Suddenly she felt very sorry that he'd done up his shirt. It would have been lovely to see more of that bronze skin against the firelight, to see the shadowed muscles of his chest as he gathered her to him and showed her just how adept he was at undoing the tight knots of a bodice…

Rousing herself out of her little fantasy, she felt something cold against her hand and looked down.

Her fingers had been tracing the hook nestled against her waist, lightly tripping over the metal edge and following along the curve to its sharp point in careless little movements. She didn't know how long she'd been doing it, but it hadn't escaped the captain's attention. He was staring at her, watching her fingers lace and curl about his hook, his expression dark and his eyes unreadable.

"Careful Swan. You keep that up you're liable to hurt yourself." His voice was low and had a rough edge. The sound of it seemed to rub against her skin and give her gooseflesh. Even though her common sense screamed at her to stop, she ignored the warning as her hand traced the silver curve. Common sense couldn't compete with his heavy-lidded eyes or the darkened desire behind them.

"I'm not afraid of your hook Captain," she answered softly, knowing somehow she was playing with something far more dangerous than the curve of metal in her hand.

"Then you're the only one. Brave men twice your size tend to cower at the sight of it."

"Hmmm." She considered his response. "I wonder, does that make me brave… or just foolish? That night we met, you asked me which one I was. It's funny but I still don't know."

"I never thought of you as foolish. A brat certainly, but never foolish."

"Well I don't want to be foolish. But then I suppose everyone says that..."

"Then tell me Swan," he eased her closer and whispered in her ear, "what is it that you do want?"

Emma turned to look at him, watching him with wide eyes. The questioned had many shades of meanings beyond its simple words. She found she was unable to answer, unable to put into words what she truly wanted from him. She could never admit to having thoughts about him. About desiring him. She just couldn't. She could never be that brave. Or foolish. Or was it brave?

Suddenly she couldn't tell one from the other.

Silence seemed to be the only answer she could offer. She said nothing when he took the glass of wine from her and set it aside, or protest when his hand cupped her cheek, or push back when he drew closer.

Her body had already begun to pulse in expectation of the kiss. Shivering at the sharp fissions of desire that were just beginning to burn, she felt his breath on her throat and the hard planes of his chest come up against her soft curves. Her hands gripped his collar as a dark need blossomed within her.

He lowered his gaze to her mouth and slowly leaned towards her. He paused when his lips were a hairsbreadth away from hers. For a moment they shared the same hot breath as he spoke: "Do you want me to kiss you Lovely?"

She watched the blue depths of his eyes shimmer against the firelight. "We have a deal. Does it really matter what I want?"

"Aye, it matters to me."

A heavy silence settled between them. His gaze held hers as she lowered her hands from his collar and spread her palms over his chest. The hard ridges of muscle flexed beneath her hands and she imagined feeling that flesh against her own, testing his steeled strength for herself…

It was then that Emma realized she didn't know what was brave or foolish anymore. And she didn't care.

"I want this," she whispered with more courage than she felt. Her eyes drifted shut as she leaned forward, capturing the warmth of his lips with her own.

For a moment, all was still. Calm. Like the ocean before a storm.

And then she was lost.


	7. 6th through 11th kiss

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Chapter: 6th through 11th Kiss

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Emma groaned as his lips caressed her own. She could taste the sharp cherry of the wine, the spice of the currants and a sweet sinfulness that was uniquely him. Her hands found the nape of his neck and tangled in his hair, fisting the soft black locks as the kiss became something heated and desperate. A wave of pleasure washed over her, drowning her in the million-and-a-half sensations he was creating.

"My lovely girl…my own sweet Swan…" he muttered against her lips before she silenced him with her own. A warm wanting feeling hummed beneath her skin, reverberating with a growing intensity. She sighed as her hands wandered over him, struggling to touch him, not knowing what to do or how to alleviate the aching pulse within her.

"Six," he whispered as his mouth trailed down the curve of her neck.

"Six," she repeated with a gasping breath. Without thinking, she tilted her head to the side and gave him more room, allowing him to roam over every inch of exposed skin.

"Oh my," she breathed as his tongue flicked over her throat. He suckled and nipped at the delicate skin he found there, teasing and tasting as her hands gripped his collar and held him to her.

"Seven," he murmured against her skin.

Emma could only nod as he moved to the other side and began his attentions again. She groaned as the contact sent rippling shocks through her.

"Eight," she whispered, arching against him, raking her hands across his back and shoulders, pressing herself to him, trying and failing to relieve the ache tearing through her. It was a voracious need, one that was relentless and unending: the more she felt, the more she wanted to feel, the more she kissed him, the more she needed to be kissed.

"Please, I don't…" the words came out as a breathless plea. "Please…"

"What is it Lovely?" He leveled his dark eyes at her. "Just tell me. I'll do anything you ask."

"I don't know what to do," she whispered, a blush now coloring her cheeks. Her body was pulling and pulsing for more, but she couldn't put into words what she wanted. She'd never spoken to anyone about such things.

"Do you want me to touch you?" he asked quietly.

She turned her head away and nodded, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Where can I touch you Swan? Show me."

He laced his fingers with hers and rested his palm against her stomach. She closed her eyes, guiding his hand upward until it rested against the swell of her breast.

She pressed it gently to her, ashamed and amazed at the white-hot pleasure that was so sharp and sudden it made her gasp.

"Is that what you want?"

She nodded as he began to knead and caress her through her blouse. He tugged the material down so more skin was bared to him and her eyes closed tighter as she felt his calloused hand against her soft curves. The rosy peak of her nipple brushed against the edge of the fabric as he tended to her, stroking her gently as the contact sent sparks of pleasure through her.

"Nine," he whispered as his lips found her throat once more. She let out a low moan as his mouth warmed her heated flesh and his rough hand continued to caress her. Her lips were parted and rubbed red, her blood was singing, her body quivering… it was wanton and wonderful and dark and delicious and she never wanted him to stop.

Emma suddenly twisted in his lap and tugged at his shirt. She needed to feel his bronzed skin for herself, needed to run her hands over his sculpted chest and shoulders. Pulling and worrying the buttons, a frustrated sigh escaped her lips when they wouldn't give. In one fluid movement he untucked the billowing material and slipped her hands beneath the shirt, guiding her to the flesh she was straining to feel.

"That better Lovely?" he asked with a grin. His teeth found her bottom lip and nipped it gently.

She muttered a stubborn 'no' even as she scraped and nicked the hard muscles she found there. He groaned against her. The low guttural noise left her with a hot breathless feeling that made her insides flutter.

"You're a terrible liar. I thought perhaps that's what you wanted, after seeing you watching me from the shadows."

"Watching you?" She stilled her hands and stared at him. He knew? He knew she'd spied on him from the doorway? She began to pull away but he clasped her to him, keeping her flush against him with her hands trapped beneath his shirt.

He nuzzled her neck, his lips drifting over her skin. "Now now. Don't run off. God's truth, I was flattered by it…"

Emma nibbled her lip as he continued to comfort her, embarrassed even as her hands continued to stroke the hard lines of his chest. She knew it was ridiculous to be ashamed about it now—after all, here she was touching him, kissing him, sitting on his lap for goodness sake.

She gave a shy smile and finally raised her eyes to his. "Well, you should be used to me staring at you by now. It should hardly surprise you."

"Wasn't terribly polite of you though, was it?" His voice had a warm, teasing tone that made her smile.

"Oh? Since when do pirates care about being polite?"

"Since never." His finger traced the curve of her cheek as he said it. "And you don't have to be polite with me Swan. Don't worry about the asking. You can watch me whenever you want. Touch me whenever you want. Believe me, I won't stop you."

"Good," she sighed against his mouth, capturing it for another breathless kiss. Heat was now blossoming under her skin and spreading like a wildfire. She tore her lips over his, tasting him roughly and deeply. A searing need licked at her. It flickered like a desperate flame as she pressed herself against him, searching for more contact. Her hands hastily undid his shirt and she wrapped her arms around his neck, losing herself in the feel of his flesh against hers and the deep bruising kiss that went on without end.

"Ten." Emma couldn't tell whether she whispered it or simply thought it. Although any thought at all seemed impossible as he guided her legs around his waist, shifting her until she straddled him, plastering her to him like a second skin. She found herself fully flush against him, the swell of her breasts creating a delicious friction with the hard lines of his chest as his hips nestled beneath hers. She could feel every sculpted ridge, every firm muscle, but it was the long length pressing beneath her thigh that made her blush and ease back.

"Captain I can't…This isn't… I haven't…" she trailed off into an embarrassed silence. Though she had some idea about male excitement and the marriage act, she was still unprepared, untouched and untried in these matters as any convent girl. And somehow explaining all that to him with his body beneath her and his mouth doing delicious things to her throat seemed next to impossible.

"It's all right Lovely. Your virtue's safe enough," he assured her quietly, gathering her back to him. "Though Lord knows you're testing me."

"I am?"

His darkened eyes held hers as he answered. "You know you are."

Emma nodded as she chewed on her lip. She repeated a vague, unintelligible thought about "we shouldn't" and "I can't." She prayed he understood, because there was no possible way she could coherently explain her warring thoughts about fidelity and verity and virginal virtue at this point…

"Keeping yourself for your husband are you?" he muttered, clarifying what she could never say.

Eyes wide and cheeks flushed in embarrassment, she nodded.

"Well he appreciates it." He ran his hand through her tangled curls. "Believe me, he does...I won't meddle with you."

"You won't?"

"No, but don't think for a moment I'm done tasting you." He began nipping and teasing his way down her throat, now using his teeth to drag her blouse lower as he kissed and caressed the valley of her breasts. "Eleven."

"Eleven," Emma sighed, her head falling back as she arched against him. She desperately tried to ignore the whispering sinful urges that wanted him to keep going, to ignore her claims to modesty and find out what lay beyond the kisses and long lingering touches; to show her what else he could do to set her on fire, how else he could sear her with the dark desire that burned beneath her skin.

Emma bit her lip as she imagined lacing his fingers with her own and guiding him to where she needed him most—to the dark heat of her inner thighs where she was warm and wet and waiting for his touch. A shift of his hips, few unclasped buckles and he'd be inside her, stoking the fire consuming both of them. For a moment she wanted it. Wanted to feel the hard length of him inside her, wanted him to ravish her and claim her as his own… It was sheer madness how close she was to giving in.

The feel of his mouth against her skin and her own heated imagination was enough to shake loose a white hot wave of release. She buried her face in his shoulder and gasped at the strange new sensation, her body now pulsing in a way that was both painful and pleasant.

He felt her shiver against him and abruptly misinterpreted its cause. Cupping her cheek, he forced her to meet his gaze. "Now now. You can rest easy Swan. I told you, I don't take unwilling women to bed. I wasn't lying about that."

"I know you weren't," she said quietly, trying to control her voice.

"Then why are you shaking?"

 _Because_ _unwillingness isn't the problem anymore… Because I don't want you to stop…because I'm moments away from falling into bed with you…_

The words came to her even as silence hung heavy in the air between them. She shook her head and looked away, watching the fire crackle in the grate as she tried to stifle the wicked urges and gain control of herself before things went too far.

Much too far.

A pounding knock at the door shook her from her inner turmoil. A deep voice rang out over the noise. "Captain? You're wanted downstairs."

The sound of it seemed to slice through the air. Startled, she nearly lept out of his lap, getting tangled in her skirts as she pulled away. His arms came around to steady her as she almost fell away from him.

"Not now!" the captain answered in a deadly voice. "Whatever it is, it can wait."

There was a moment of silence before the pounding at the door continued.

"Unless there's a riot or the place is on fire, I'm not to be disturbed!" he shouted sharply.

Staring at the door, Emma sighed at the sense of relief and disappointment coursing through her. The interruption had broken whatever spell they'd been under. The frenzied want and frantic need had receded, the flush coloring her cheeks cooled and her breaths came slowly and steadily.

She slowly came back to herself. Easing away from him, she climbed to her feet and put some much needed distance between them until she stood beside the fireplace. Adjusting her blouse, she smoothed out her hair and tried to put herself back in some kind of order.

"We're at eleven, aren't we?" she asked quietly. Her hands nervously gripped the table as her eyes traced the empty wine glasses.

"Think so," he replied as he did up his shirt. His hair was still ruffled and his lips rubbed red. The sight of it was somehow incredibly endearing. "Of course I might've lost count. But who could blame me? Hard to think a'tall when such a lovely little lass falls into my lap, tempting me with her soft smiles and sweet kisses. I'm only human you know."

"Eleven sounds about right." Emma suppressed the smile that was threatening to bloom.

"Ah, and here I was hoping you might forget one or two. Maybe show a little mercy to a poor lonely sailor."

She gave a shy shrug. "If you see any poor lonely sailors, just send them my way."

"Brat," he muttered warmly. "Perhaps we'd be better off…"

Whatever he was about to say was forgotten when a heavy crash came from downstairs. A woman screamed as the sound of breaking glass shattered over the noise of trampling feet. Emma could hear the crunch and splinter of furniture and several shouts and curses.

"Maybe there _is_ a riot," she said quietly.

"Wouldn't be the first time," he replied, now listening as well.

"Captain!" The voice at the door was back again. "It's the sheriff. He's here. He wants to speak to 'ya. He's brought his men and cleared the tavern. The place is surrounded. He's waiting for yeh' now."

Emma froze, staring at the closed door as the meaning of the words slowly became clear. The sheriff? Nottingham? Nottingham was here. He'd found her…

Somehow he'd found her.

The captain climbed to his feet and fixed his shirt. He watched the door with narrow eyes. "Nottingham's here? Now? What the hell is he playing at?" He shook his head and waved it away. "It's nothing. The miserable bastard's probably just looking for a bribe. That's all it is. He wants a payoff. Damned odd time to be asking for it though..."

He turned to her, his eyes dark and unreadable as he tucked a dagger into his belt. "Stay here and keep quiet. You're not to open that door unless it's for me. Do you understand?"

Emma said nothing nor gave him any kind of reply when he disappeared into the hallway. The tavern had gone deathly silent. There was no hum of laughter, no thrum of conversation, no movement or music. All she could hear was the lapping of the ocean outside the window and the rattle of dead leaves as the wind scraped them down the street.

Taking a deep breath, she followed him out into the hallway. She had to see what was happening for herself. She had to. She couldn't just hide here in his room, waiting for him to return, dreading what would happen if he didn't.

Emma stepped into the darkness with a heavy heart. If she was going to meet her end tonight, she wouldn't cower from it. She wouldn't cry or beg.

She'd be brave. Even if it killed her.


	8. Brave

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Chapter 8: Brave

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Keeping to the shadows of the stairwell, Emma peered over the railing and watched the tavern below.

The lanterns had been doused and a dark gloom swallowed the pub whole. Some remaining candles flickered on a few tables, revealing the large looming forms of black knights. There were at least a dozen of them, unmistakable in their midnight-colored armor and dagger crests. They were sitting in the few chairs that weren't overturned, drinking beer from large tankards. Sitting at the front of the room was a large wolfish man with sharp features and a hungry smile.

Nottingham.

He was here. He had found her after all.

Emma gripped the banister, fighting to keep herself upright. Her breath caught in her throat as her blood turned to ice as her and her knees nearly buckled. A wave of terror washed over her and she felt like she'd been thrust underwater. Unable to breathe. Unable to scream.

The scene below seemed to unfold in slow motion as the captain approached the sheriff. The two men shook hands and broke into loud boisterous laughter. Nottingham clapped the pirate on the back and looked at him approvingly. The captain then offered a charming greeting to the rest of the group. He seemed completely at ease with the knights, his cheerful voice echoing up to the rafters as he addressed the large looming shadows.

"Bloody hell, I have to say this is a surprise Sheriff. What brings you here at such an ungodly hour?"

"Ungodly business. Is there any other kind?" Nottingham replied with a wicked smirk.

"Not that I know of. How's the leg?"

"Painful. How's the hand?"

"Missing." The pirate gave a sly wink.

They both chuckled quietly, privy to some private joke. Emma held tightly to the railing, wondering just how friendly the pirate and the sheriff were after all...

The captain gestured to the tavern around them. "It's funny... I haven't seen you since I've been in port. Been wondering where you were keeping yourself."

"Who says I've been keeping myself at all? I was in the Northern Kingdom actually. Had the privilege of paying my respects to the new queen there. Queen Regina. Oh Jones, if you could but see her…" He sighed. "There's none like her in these realms. None so fine, none so ruthless. She's fucking glorious to behold."

"Yes, I hear she's quite the enchantress."

The sheriff nodded. "It's no lie. She's as fair as any woman I've ever seen. The fairest in the land. Long raven hair and rum-colored eyes. And the prettiest pair of tits in creation. The kind that make you want to fall to your knees and beg for a closer look." Nottingham went on to describe Regina in lurid detail, using terms about the female anatomy that Emma wasn't quite sure she understood.

"Sounds like an ideal monarch," the captain said approvingly.

"That she is. And I have to tell you my friend, I hated to leave her… But my duty to the county comes before all."

"Ever the faithful public servant."

"I like to give that impression…and so imagine my surprise I found out that your crew went tearing around the countryside, chasing after a young blonde who was hiding in the forest."

The captain shrugged. "Why should that interest you? Sounds like you have better things to do than pay mind to my own pitiful exploits."

"Normally I'd agree with you." Nottingham nodded. "But it's a funny thing. Because _you_ went looking for a young blonde … and now turns out that _I'm_ looking for a young blonde. Quite a coincidence, isn't it?"

"Not really," he replied in a bored voice. "Most of the men I know spend a good deal of time and money hunting up young blondes. Why should we be any different?"

The group of knights let out a belt of laughter, throwing their heads back and raising their drinks to the pirate. A few nodded in agreement and chuckled as they drank deeply and pounded their tankards on the teetering tables.

The captain's smile didn't quite reach his eyes as the laughter died away. "But I found my blonde. You'll have to get your own."

"If she is who I think she is, you'll have to hand her over to me. I'll give you a finder's fee of course, plus a little something extra for your trouble…but I'm gonna take her Jones. You won't have a choice in the matter."

"Ah, there's always a choice Sheriff. But who is she? This troublesome girl of yours."

Nottingham waved the question away, as if it were completely unimportant. "She's just some ousted royal from the North who was traced to these parts. Seems she got on the bad side of the new queen and has a death sentence waiting for her. There's a nice, fat reward for anyone who brings her in alive and kicking."

"A royal from the North?" He gave a small smile. "You've certainly got the wrong girl then... My Swan's a shopkeeper's daughter from Hampton. I found her when I was in port there. She's never been to the North in her life." Emma was surprised at how easily the lie came to him.

Nottingham didn't seem convinced. "My deputies tell me a different story. Several stories actually..."

"Your deputies couldn't keep track of my women if I paid them to. They're far too busy chasing after their own girls to worry about mine."

"But rumor has it that your men scoured the forest for her. She must be awfully important if you're sending your entire crew after her."

"I don't pay attention to rumors…"

"Well I do," Nottingham interrupted briskly. "And I know she's here. So bring her out. Let me have a look at her, and then we'll see what we'll see."

"What, now? It's the middle of the night. I'm afraid she's sleeping."

"Then wake her up." Nottingham's expression was merry but his eyes held a darkness that made Emma shiver. "Or shall I have my men do it for you?"

The pirate leveled a steeled gaze at the sheriff. "That's all right. There's no need to go to that kind of trouble. I think it's best if I get her. My girl can be a bit grumpy when she's roused and she's got a hell've of a punch." He chuckled quietly even as he nodded to his crew. His men were lurking around the shadows of the bar, watching their captain, poised and ready to strike at Nottingham and his men if given the signal.

The captain climbed the stairs slowly and found Emma crouched by the banister. If he was surprised at seeing her huddled in the shadows he didn't show it. "Come on my Lovely. My own lovely Swan." He eased her away from the stairwell and leaned in to whisper: "Easy now. If it comes to it, I won't let them take you… but you have to help me now."

"How?" she whispered, her voice shaking as hard as the hand that held her own.

"All you have to do is charm them. Act like none of this matters. That you couldn't care less about them being here. If you flirt and smile, they won't think anything's amiss. And don't look frightened…that's what they're expecting."

"Say Jones," Nottingham's deep voice cut through the quiet, causing Emma to bite her lip as she shuddered. "Are you gonna' be awhile? Because I don't have all night…"

The captain eased away, shooting her a dark look as he led her towards the sheriff and his men. She brushed some loose curls over her face, hiding behind the pale strands as much as she could.

She stood before the shadowed group with a small smile, fighting the fear lashing through her. Nottingham looked her up and down, his eyes glittering against the faint candlelight. "Now here's the famous little lady. You caused quite a ruckus in our little village, haven't you?"

Emma took a deep breath, steadying herself as she gave a careless shrug and twirled her hair, imitating the flourishes of the barmaids she'd seen these last few days. She smiled vacantly and answered in a soft Irish brogue: "Have I sir? I didn't mean ta'. I never meant to cause ya' any kind of trouble. Honest I didn't."

Nottingham studied her, his dark expression unreadable, his voice slightly lilted like he was talking to a child: "Of course not sweetheart. But I've heard stories about how you ran away. About how the crew had to hunt you down in the forest. Now how do you explain that?"

"Aye. Tis true enough sir," Emma replied earnestly. "We had ourselves a fight. I don't know how it happened, because the Captain here treats meh' ever so well…but I lost meh' temper and ran off sir."

"I heard his men had to drag you back. And I've known Jones here awhile. That's not how he handles his women."

"Well…I'd been drinkin'…"

"Had you?"

She nodded shyly. "Aye, and we quarreled. And then I run off sir. I hadn't any mind to listen to reason. So he sent the crew after me. I'm sorry I did it but…" she shrugged helplessly "…sometimes I just can't seem to help me'self."

Nottingham tsk-tsked. "But why were you in rags sweetheart? Everyone I've talked to says your clothes were tattered and torn."

Emma gestured to her skirts. "Because tha's what we was fightin' about! It's tha' hook of his. He just tears a dress to pieces to get what he wants. Animal that he is...And I was tired of having nothin' to wear because he can't find his way around a few fucking buttons."

The men around her burst into laughter. Emma chewed on her thumbnail and kept her eyes wide and vacant, ignoring the harsh guffaws and Nottingham's own lustful gaze.

"This one's got gumption, hasn't she?" The sheriff said with approval. "She's sweet. Young too." A wolfish grin appeared on his face. "A pretty thing. Fair and fresh…"

"Aye that she is sir." The captain's voice rang out jovially as an arm came around her waist and brought her flush against his side. "The fairest and freshest any man could hope for."

Nottingham's smile was now an outright leer. "Are there any more like her back in Hampton? I might pay the place a visit if she's a sample of what they offer."

"Might be," he replied with a wide grin. "But she's something special. I knew it the moment I clapped eyes on her."

"I bet she is." Nottingham turned to her and wet his lips. "Now you come find me if you get tired of these rough-and-tumble pirates, all right little lady? They aren't the sort of company a girl like you should keep."

"Aye, thank ya' sir and bless ya'," Emma replied softly. "You're a fine gentleman, to be sure."

"That's well done Jones. Well done indeed. I can see why you ordered your men to fetch her back. I'd certainly do the same." Nottingham sent the pirate a wink and a few friendly words before he tipped back his mug and made his way towards the door. The black knights followed, finishing their beers and disappearing into the shadowed darkness of the streets from which they came.

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After they were gone, the captain waved away the members of his crew who were still hovering nearby. Without a word he took Emma's shaking hand and roughly led her upstairs.

Emma kept her eyes fixed on the floor, the loose curls veiling her face as he pulled her along. She said nothing and put up no resistance. She knew what was coming—he was going to send her packing. Probably going to take her to the edge of town and leave her there…

Of course he'd get rid of her. He had to. He'd discovered who she was: a fugitive, a royal from the North who was wanted by Regina and hunted by the black knights. She was too big a risk to keep around. She'd already attracted Nottingham's attention, and it wouldn't be long before the queen's own bounty hunters and mercenaries tracked her down as well. The captain wasn't going to endanger himself and his crew for a useless thief. He couldn't set himself against Regina.

He wouldn't. No man would.

The captain led her back to his room and ushered her inside, closing door behind them. It wasn't until she heard the latch click behind her that she raised her eyes to his, expecting him to quietly command her to gather her meager possessions and clear out.

Instead he brushed the curls out of her face and gently cupped her cheek. "You were amazing Lovely, just amazing. Brave, sweet thing you are…I knew you could do it. Never doubted you for a moment."

Emma hadn't realized she was holding her breath until her lungs screamed for air. She let out a gasping cough as a sick dizzying feeling lashed through her. At once he gathered her to him, keeping her from crumpling to the floor. She wrapped her arms around his neck, forcing herself to take long breaths, willing the waves of panic that had risen in her to recede.

"There there. It's all right. You're safe now."

"I thought….I thought…" Emma shook her head. She couldn't even say the words.

"I know. You thought I was going to hand you over to that asshole and his merry band of fuckwits." He stroked her hair and soothed her. "Remember Swan, I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. I gave you my word and I always keep my word. I may be a thief and a pirate, but I'm a damned honest one."

She nodded against him, clinging to him, taking comfort in the warm steady feel of him.

"Come on now. Sit down."

"I don't want to sit down," she muttered, still holding tightly to him.

The captain chuckled and eased her towards his bed. "It wasn't a question Lovely. Sit. Now. The fire needs tending and you need a drink. Come on. There you go…" he urged her to sit and went to check the window. He eyed the empty streets until he was satisfied that the sheriff's men weren't still watching the place. Then he busied himself with the dying fire.

Emma sat very still and watched the flames take to the kindling. The fire rose higher and higher, licking at the grate and casting an amber light across the shadows. Staring into the flames, Emma recalled that Regina took pleasure in burning royalists at the stake. Sometimes the Queen forced their families to watch, even going so far as to make them to light the blaze. After Emma had gone into hiding, she'd heard stories that Regina burned entire villages to the ground if they were suspected of harboring royalists. No one was spared: children, women, even those loyal to the evil queen, they all went up in a sickening cloud of smoke. Nothing was left. Survivors couldn't even bury the remains…

"Swan," the captain's voice shook her out of her thoughts as his hook stroked her hand. He was kneeling in front of her, holding a goblet.

Emma took the cup and raised it to her lips. She sniffed it, looking at him curiously.

"It's brandy," he explained. "Good for shock. It's strong stuff, so you'll have to drink it slowly."

She nodded and took a small sip. It reminded her of the rum he'd once offered her. The brandy burned its way down her throat, leaving an odd apricot flavor in her mouth. She tried it again, forcing herself to swallow, forcing herself to breathe.

The captain went back to the window to keep an eye on the streets below. She sat on the edge of the bed sipping the brandy, watching him from across the room. Just outside she could hear the soft sound of the ocean and the sharp howl of winter winds against the windowpanes. Snow flurries had begun to fall, raining down over the seascape, reflecting the veiled moonlight in the silver clouds.

It struck her that this was how they met—her sitting on a bed, terrified and hopeless and him standing at the window, outlined in shadow and starlight. So much had changed since then. And so little.

"I should leave," she muttered as she set aside the empty goblet. "I should leave tonight. I can't stay here anymore. It's not safe."

"You're not going anywhere," he replied, still watching the streets below.

"I have to. The sheriff found me, and others will too. You don't know what Regina's capable of. She'll send her mercenaries after me. Anyone who can track and kill…she won't stop until she has my heart brought to her on a silver platter."

"Believe me Swan, your heart's safe for the time being."

"What difference does it make? If I leave tonight or if I leave in a week…what does it matter? I can't stay here forever."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Emma repeated, not certain she understood him. "Stay here? At The Black Swan?"

He turned to her, his eyes holding hers against the starlight. "No my Lovely. Stay with me."


	9. 12th Kiss

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Chapter: 12th kiss

This was originally going to be a two-chapter fluff piece and it's turned into something almost (kinda sorta) resembling an actual story. Thanks for the feedback/motivation fellow shippers :)

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"What do you mean?" Emma whispered, her voice nearly drowned out by the howling wind rattling the windowpanes.

He gave shy smile. "Not really the way it's supposed to be, is it? I'm supposed to have a speech prepared, aren't I? Or flowers. Probably both. I think I could manage a few lines of poetry but you didn't seem to appreciate my attempt at prose last time..."

She stared at him for a moment. "Captain, are you asking me to marry you?"

"Perhaps you should call me Killian at this point."

"Killian," she breathed his name, the sound of it was strange and sweet against her lips. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

"Trying to." He rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. "Should've known I wouldn't be any damned good at it. But it's not as easy as it looks...brat you are. And it's not as though I've had any practice at it."

"Practice at it?" She echoed in a hollow voice. "Practice at…what are you talking about? You can't propose to me. This isn't…you can't…wait…what? Are you insane?"

He nodded in agreement as she stammered nonsense. "My timing could've been better. I'll grant you that."

She shook her head, which was now spinning from the shock of it. "You're joking. It's some kind joke. You don't mean it. You don't mean any of it."

He leveled his gaze at her, the smile quickly leaving his face. "Well it seems I do."

"This isn't...I'm not… You can't be serious! You just met me! You don't know me at all. I'm a perfect stranger. You know nothing about me. _Nothing_!"

"I know you."

"You don't! You don't know anything about me. We met a week ago, what could you possibly know?"

"Plenty. I know you're a brat who can't hold her liquor…"

"Stop it," she shook her head angrily. "Just stop it."

He eased closer until he stood in front of her. "And you've got a sharp little tongue that puts me in my place. And the worst Irish accent I've ever heard in my entire life…"

"This isn't funny!" She shoved him away and tried to get to her feet. He held her shoulders and set her back on the bed, folding her hands in his as he knelt in front of her.

"Emma…" the sound of her name on his lips startled her. She stared at him with wide eyes as he took her hand and held it to his heart. "You're strong. And brave. And you're the only girl who's ever made me want to be a better man. I know I'll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of you…What else is there to know?"

She blinked back her tears, searching for words that wouldn't come. "Stop…please…"

"Not to mention you're the most beautiful creature I've ever seen. But you already know that don't you?" He shook his head as he chuckled. "Believe me Lovely, you shine. More brilliant than the sun. I've never seen anything like you."

She bowed her head miserably. "Now I know you're joking."

"I'm not." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. A braided band curled around a fire opal that shimmered with hidden starlight. Its red color was richer than any wine, darker than blood. "And if you don't believe me, you can wear this. It shines well enough on its own."

Emma pushed the ring away as he pressed it to her. "I can't…"

"Yes you can. It's yours." He held her hand and slipped it onto her shaking finger. His gaze was fixed on her as she stared at it. "Whether or not you want me, you're gonna keep it. I want you to have it. Even if it's just to remember me by."

She watched at the shimmering stone, radiant as a harvest moon. Staring into its fiery depths she was reminded of red wine and the slight sheen of his lips.

"I didn't steal it," he said with a small smile. "If that's what you're wondering."

"I wasn't thinking that."

"I bought it all nice and respectable-like. That night we went into town. While you were getting your hair done."

"You bought it when I…when you… wait _that's_ what you were doing?!"

He nodded. "Aye. Never said otherwise did I?"

"I suppose not." She looked down, watching the ring glint against the firelight. "But you don't know me at all. I mean… I'm no one to you. I'm _nothing_. Just a thief. And a lousy one at that."

"You're not no one. You're my Swan. And yes you're a lousy thief. A terrible one. Horrible actually. Just truly and utterly pathetic." She swatted at him as he gathered her to him. "But you're tough. And a survivor. You're just like me Swan. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you. You're just like me."

She could feel his lips against her cheek, chest rising and falling with hers as she struggled to breathe. Her fingers curled around his collar, her hands trembling as she clung to him.

"Emma." He sighed her name as he rested his forehead against hers. "I'll take care of you. I'll keep you safe. I swear I will. Please my Lovely… Marry me."

She felt him stroke the curls tumbling around her shoulders and watched the slow movements of his hand as he ran his fingers through the pale strands. Emma didn't know what to say or what to think. Any attempt to speak would no doubt result in stammering nonsense and thinking was almost equally impossible. A vague idea of hauling him to her and losing herself in his touch flitted through her mind—something like that wouldn't require any thought at all. She could already anticipate the whisper of his lips against her skin, the taste of him in her mouth, the feel his strong steady body against her own...

But it wasn't that simple, was it? It could never be that simple. She couldn't just kiss him, and not give him any kind of an answer.

She couldn't just stay with him and expect a happy ending.

That wouldn't be how their story ended.

Emma shook her head miserably and found herself easing away, drawing back little by little until they weren't touching at all. She glanced at him, hating that she saw a flash of hurt in his eyes. Hating that she was the one who caused it.

"I don't know," she finally answered in an quiet voice. "I need to think about this. I need some time. I'm tired...and I don't know. I need time."

He nodded, his eyes masking a hidden pain.

"Fine lass. You rest now. You get some sleep." He gathered the red billowing blankets around her as she protested.

"I can't stay in your room."

"Yes you can. And you will. You're staying put tonight. I'm not going to take any chances with Nottingham's men sniffing about."

Her eyes widened. "You think they're still here?"

"I think they're idiots. And a lustful pack of dogs. They might have a mind to see if you're as friendly as you pretended to be."

"Oh God," she buried her face in her hands, her color rising when she remembered how forward she'd been in front of Nottingham and the knights.

"Now now. None of that. You did well. You fooled them good and proper and its not likely they'll be back. But just in case, I'll be in the hallway keeping watch." She muttered a feeble protest even as he tucked her in.

He chucked her chin once he had her settled. "If you need anything, I'll be outside. Now keep the door bolted. And, here, take this." He handed her the dagger from his belt.

She eyed it wearily. "What am I supposed to do with that? Sleep with it under my pillow?"

"It's _my_ pillow actually, and I prefer that you didn't. Unless you feel like waking up in a pile of feathers. No, just keep it handy." She tucked it under the bed, and he nodded his approval before lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to her palm.

"Twelve," he said softly.

"Twelve."

"Goodnight Swan."

"Goodnight Captain," she muttered, watching him rig the bolt on the door before disappearing into the darkness of the hallway.

As soon as the door clicked shut she threw the covers aside and climbed to her feet. Snatching the dagger from under the bed, she headed towards the table. His long leather coat was draped carelessly over a chair and she slipped it on, rolling up the sleeves until her hands were free to tuck the knife into the belt loop.

Emma hesitated a moment as she stood in the half-light of the window, partially in shadow, partially in moonlight. She fought an overwhelming urge to crawl back beneath the warm blankets and curl against his pillow, to watch the fire die out and the snowflurries gather against the windowpane. She could imagine the bright winter light of the morning pouring into the room, the captain bringing her coffee, kissing her good-morning and admiring the ring on her finger as it caught the silver sunlight…

But no. That could never be.

Shaking her head miserably, she tugged at the ring. The red opal flashed in the faint light, sparkling though the moon hid behind storm clouds gathering over the horizon. With a few quick movements she slipped the ring off and laid it gently on the table. The large stone glittered cheerfully even in the darkest part of the shadows.

She wouldn't marry him. Of course she wouldn't. Even though he was the only person she felt safe with, the only man she'd ever cared for, she had to leave him. She had to stay away from him.

Because she was going to get him killed.

His life was already in danger because of her. Nottingham had found her and others would soon follow. No matter how far they sailed, somehow Regina would find them. And Emma knew that Regina would make Killian suffer—she would kill him slowly, make him die a thousand deaths because he was hers. What had Regina always said? That love was a weapon? That love was a weakness? Well she was right. Killian was what Emma wanted, and Regina would see that he paid for it.

The lost maiden had given her heart to the lonely sailor, and now the only way to keep him safe was to leave him behind.


	10. Twenty

Chapter: Twenty

Warning: This chapter contains smut and fluffy nonsense.

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Emma stood at the window in the captain's room and cast her eyes over the dark village streets. There was no noise from the docks or any sort of thrum in the empty tavern below. Snow and sleet continued to fall, floating in the darkness of the sea and sky. The wind howled against the panes as ice coated the rooftops.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Her legs were shaking and her hands were clenched as if holding something she was unwilling to let go. Reaching out, she found the cold metal of the latch and flicked it open. As the window creaked, a rush of wind swept over her, dousing the fire and scattering a few loose papers piled in the corner.

The distance to the alley below was about fifteen feet. A stack of crates and barrels offered a rickety sort of pile she could land on, which would cut the fall by quite a bit. She ran her hand along a few black scuff marks on the wall and assumed that past patrons of The Black Swan had used the window for a similar means of escape (probably to avoid paying the bill).

 _So this qualifies as an escape plan, doesn't it?_ she murmured. _Not a good one, but a plan nevertheless..._

Taking a steadying breath, she tossed the captain's dagger onto the street and hoisted a leg over the windowsill. Gripping the ledge tightly, she lowered herself against the building until she dangled like the icicles just starting to form.

 _Okay…now just let go. Just fall. It'll be fine. After all, the fall won't kill you._ Emma glanced down for a moment. The barrels looked much closer to the ground than she remembered.

 _All right, the fall might kill you. But probably not immediately…_

Closing her eyes, she let go. The crates snapped beneath her as soon as she landed on them. She fell hard to the ground, rolling onto the cobblestones, tumbling in a painful heap. The shattered wooden planks clattered around her and the noise cut through the silent streets. Emma heard muffled voices approaching while she staggered to her feet and shook off the splinters. The crash apparently attracted the attention of some crewmembers who were keeping watch out front.

"This way…I heard it over here."

"Yeah in the alley there."

"What the hell happened? Wait, ain't that her?"

Searching frantically for the knife, Emma kicked aside the debris before sprinting off. It must've fallen somewhere under the crates and she had no choice but to leave it behind. Emma could hear the crewmen calling for the captain as she disappeared into the darkness of the alleyway.

The snow-covered shop windows became a blur as she raced along the maze of empty lanes. She gathered the large leather coat around her, guarding her face and hands from the biting cold of the wind. Her breath puffed against the night air as the snowstorm brewed overhead. Fat raindrops began to fall around her, turning to ice as soon as they struck the street. A chill was already taking root in her bones and her lungs began to burn. She willed herself to keep moving, determined to put as much distance as she could between herself and The Black Swan.

Turning a sharp corner, Emma suddenly collided with two grizzled men. Landing hard on the ground, the wind was knocked from her in a wheezing rush.

"Watch out, ya' load!" An iron grip latched onto her arm as the larger man hauled her roughly to her feet. Gasping, she tried to pull away but he wouldn't let go. Even in the darkness she could tell they were wearing Nottingham's crest and obviously part of his pack.

"What's all this then?" The smaller man grinned. "Lost little lady?"

Emma tried to pull away but the brute held her fast.

"Hey, what's wrong with her?"

"Wha'cha running from girlie?"

"Must be awfully important for you to go tearing through alleys like that. Little thing like yourself should keep to the streets. Nothing so dangerous as a dark alleyway. Don't you know anything?"

"Yeah, don't you know anything?" the larger one echoed.

She heard them say "young but skinny," "a slip of a thing," and "not bad for a blonde."

"Let me go!" she pushed against them. "Get your hands off me."

"Not too friendly, this one."

"Aye, but she's pretty enough, isn't she?"

"She's all right. Little scrawny for my taste."

"So what's the going rate, sweetheart? What do you charge?"

She shook her head, struggling to free herself. Emma wished she'd kept the dagger, wished she could flash the blade and frighten the two idiots who were so callously and roughly handling her.

"Swan!" All three looked up when the captain's voice echoed down the streets.

The large man holding her squinted. "Hey, who's that then?"

"It's my husband," she snapped. "He's got the devil's own temper and is in a damnable mood. Believe me, you don't want him to find me here like this. Not with a bottle of rum in him."

"Husband?" The brute pushed her away like she was a leper. "Fucking figures. Why are all the pretty ones married to drunk assholes?"

"It's a Goddamned mystery of life," the smaller man agreed.

Without wasting another moment Emma broke into a run, ducking past the men and fleeing into the darkness. She had no idea where she was going, no idea of where to hide. She just had to get away, just had to keep running.

The sharp sound of her footsteps against the cobblestone fell away as she headed into the dark forest. She sprinted through the underbrush and clawed her way up a steep embankment. The mud quickly gave under her weight and covered her skirts in frost and dirt as she dug her way uphill. Dead brambles and thorns stuck fast to her coat, pulling at her as if trying to keep her in their company.

"Swan!"

Somehow the voice was getting closer. Heavy footsteps thudded against the ground behind her, matching her own heartbeat. She pushed through ragged holly bushes, thick with branches and wilted leaves now covered in frost. Thunder rumbled as the winter storm loomed overhead. Raindrops and sleet began to fall with more and more force as she made her way deeper and into the woods.

An overgrown trail led her along the bluffs that fell sharply to the sea. Emma skidded to a stop on the cliffside, unsure of which way to head. She stared at the seascape, her lungs burning, her heart nearly pounding out of her chest. The endless ocean stretched out in front of her. It was a jagged expanse set in constant motion. White caps peaked in the breeze until the entire ocean seemed to be covered in tiny rows of teeth.

She had to keep running, had to keep moving. But where? Which direction? Before she could decide she caught sight of a hook snagging the material of her coattails. She felt herself being roughly hauled against a strong masculine body as a pair of arms clapped round her and held her in place.

"Easy Lovely easy..."

Emma turned to face the captain, clawing and flailing wildly against him. Tears blinded her as her hot flashing anger finally boiled over. "I'm leaving. You can't keep me here!"

"All right... calm down..."

"I won't stay. I can't stay with you. I won't!"

"I know that."

"Asking me to marry you! What were you thinking? How could you have been so stupid? You don't know anything about me! You don't know what I'm running from. You don't know what Regina will do if she finds us. Let me go!" She swung at him, but he wouldn't loose the iron grip that held her.

He held her tightly and let her struggle and scratch, taking the blows without delivering one of his own. "Listen to me Swan, I'm not letting you go. Not like this. Breathe Lovely. Just take a breath. Calm down."

"You can't keep me here! You can't force me to stay!"

"I'm not going to force you to do anything. I swear I won't. But you can't leave like this. Just running off into the night. No money. You didn't even take a decent coat. You're half-frozen."

"Let me go. I can take care myself."

"I know you can, survivor you are. But I'll help you. If you just let me..."

"I don't want your help!" Emma tried to pull away but the arms around her were steel traps. She kicked at his ankles and caught him with the sharp edge of her heel. The captain threw his weight against her, pinning her against a wide tree trunk. He forced her hands over her head and held her legs with his own.

"Get off me!"

He shook his head calmly. "No."

"Get away from me. I never want to see you again!"

"Well that will be difficult seeing as how I'm on top of you."

"I'm not staying with you. Get off me. Get away!" Emma wrestled and shoved, fighting to free herself. She continued to struggle until her strength started to leave her. After a few futile attempts to shove him back, she slowly grew quiet and forced herself to breathe, feeling his grip loosen when she stopped fighting him.

The captain watched her for a moment before he eased away. They stood apart from each other, far enough to let the bitterly cold wind sweep the distance between them.

He studied her, concern etched on his features. "Why'd you leave like that? What's wrong with you?"

"Leave me alone. I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You're far from it." He rested a gentle hand on her shoulder before she pushed him away with a sharp shove.

"Don't touch me."

"Don't touch…?" He stared at her in disbelief. "Don't touch you? What made you say that?"

Emma bit her lip, forcing herself to remember why she had to leave, forcing herself to keep her distance from him.

His gaze darkened as he watched her. A stern expression hardened his features. "Why'd you run away? I want to know."

She shook her head, refusing to answer. What good would it do anyway? He wouldn't understand. He didn't know Regina. He didn't know the men hunting her; he didn't understand what would happen to him if they were caught…

"Why'd you do it?" he demanded. "Running off. Climbing out the window for God's sake. You could've broken your neck."

"Well I didn't."

"By the grace of God I'm sure."

"I had to leave. I couldn't stay in that place another day. I couldn't…I can't stay with you anymore."

"Tell me why."

She stared at the icy ground beneath her, watching the flowers wilt under the weight of frost.

"Tell me," he urged.

Emma gave a slight shrug but remained silent. She tried to ignore the feeling of dread that washed over her when she thought about leaving him, tried to ignore the soft voices that urged her to follow him back to the inn. Emma knew what she was leaving behind. And she knew what awaited her in the forest—the endless darkness and freezing rain, the hopelessness and despair, the gnawing hunger pains and aching loneliness. All of it washed over her in a wave, as did the knowledge that she would have to endure it night after night until Regina or her knights finally discovered her…

And standing in front of her was the one man she felt safe with. The man who made her forget all that. He was the one person she had to stay away from. Because she was going to get him killed.

"Was it because Nottingham showed up like that?" he asked quietly.

"No."

"Was it because of what happened tonight? What we did in my room?"

She kept her eyes fixed on the ground as her cheeks turned a darker shade of red. "No."

"It was only a few kisses Lovely. You don't have to feel bad about any of it. You didn't do anything wrong..."

"It's not that," she cut in sharply.

"Then what is it?"

"I just couldn't stay there another night!" she snapped. "I don't have time for this. I don't have time to play these silly games anymore. Twenty kisses…fine. It was fun at first, but I'm done humoring you. I have more important things to worry about. And there's no point in staying. There's nothing for me here. There never was."

Her words hung heavy in the air between them as she glared at him. She hated saying it, hated the lie, hated that his jaw clenched and his hand curled in a tight fist. Hated that his eyes became dark and unreadable, masking some hidden hurt that had everything to do with her.

The captain studied her gravely. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded strained and his eyes were cold. "Well maybe it's for the best. Maybe you should leave. If you were mine, if you were my wife…I wouldn't want you in a place like The Black Swan. Not like this. Not with someone like me."

She swallowed hard as he spoke. _If you were mine…_ she closed her eyes as the words reverberated through her. _If you were my wife_ …

"If you're gonna leave Swan, then fine. I won't stop you. I'm not gonna keep you against your will. If you want to go, then go. I won't stand in your way."

Emma said nothing as she watched him. For a moment the only sound she heard was the howling wind and the pitter-patter of rain. A few teardrops trickled down her chin and left heart-shaped stains on the dead leaves beneath her.

She'd hurt him. Gods she'd really hurt him. Without lifting a finger or wielding a blade, she managed to cut him deeply. There was no doubt she could leave him now, disappear into the dark forest and never return. Just walk away and leave him behind. There would be no need to run. Because this time he wouldn't follow her.

The captain eased towards her. Emma sensed the heat coming off him, smelled the clover in his soap and the crisp clean scent of the sea she'd come to love. He reached into his pocket and handed her a small cloth purse full of coins.

"Here. Take it. I want you to have this," he said quietly, his voice empty and expressionless. "It should help. Go on and buy yourself a decent cloak when you can. You'll stand out if you keep wearing my coat like that. And as soon as you're able, try and book a passage to Arendelle. Most of the refugees are headed that way."

Emma took the purse from him, trying to ignore the feel of his callused fingers as they grazed her own. "Thank you."

He reached out to touch her shoulder but thought better of it when she shied away. "Just do me this favor. Keep off the streets at night. They're no place for a girl like you. There's men out there, they won't take care with you. They don't know that you're sweet and strong and worth a thousand of them. They'll hurt you and…I don't…I don't want that to happen."

She nodded slowly.

"And since Nottingham's on the hunt for you, you'd better get as far away from here as you can. He's got packs of deputies in these parts. They'll haul you off to jail just for breathing the same air as 'em. Just go, and stay safe."

"I will." Emma gathered his coat around her, her chest tight and her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She felt a gentle tug as his hand found her own. The captain pressed a quick kiss there, bidding her a polite goodbye.

Her eyes closed when she felt the warmth of his lips. Emma knew she could step into his arms and find that same warmth there. For a moment she imagined him gathering her to him, holding her, taking her back to the inn where she could sip cider and sit by the fire, curl against him and listen to his heartbeat keep time with her own. He'd wrap her up in blankets and say sweet things until she fell asleep…

She fought the urge to throw herself in his arms with the last of her feeble strength.

"Thirteen," he muttered, his lips still hovering over her hand. "Doesn't bode well for us, does it?"

"No it doesn't," she agreed quietly after he released her, offering a sad smile that wasn't returned.

"All right then, be off with you. Keep away from the roads. And mind your manners, brat."

Emma met his gaze as tears welled in her eyes. Without pausing to think, she reached up to brush the dark scruff on his cheek. Her fingers traced his chin and threaded down the hard line of his throat where they wrapped around his collar, holding the material tightly. So tightly her knuckles went white and her hand began to tremble. She gave a gentle tug, pulling him closer, unable to keep the distance between them any longer.

"Swan? What are you doing?"

Emma closed her eyes and shook her head, savoring the feel of his breath on her throat and the tousled locks of hair brushing against her forehead. The familiar heat began radiating through her, beating beneath her skin in time with her heart. He was so close, so warm and steady and strong. All she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him and huddle against him.

"I'm sorry I left like that," she answered at last, trying her best to explain and knowing she never could. "Regina says love is a weapon, that it's a weakness. And she's right. I can't stay with you. If I do I'm going to get you killed. I couldn't risk staying another night. If she finds me, she'll hurt you just to punish me…I won't...I can't..." Her voice gave out before she could go on.

"Hush now. None of that. I'm more than capable of bringing about my own death. It's a miracle I've lasted as long as I have."

Emma gave a weak laugh as she stepped into his arms. She let herself collapse against him, ignoring the tears that were trickling down her cheeks and falling with the snowflakes around them.

"And you're wrong about love," he said softly. His arms tightened their hold as a sob shook through her. "You've got it all wrong. Love isn't a weapon. It isn't a weakness. It's a strength. It's the only thing worth having and a blessing when you find it. And if you're not willing to fight for it, you deserve what you get."

Emma shook her head. "You don't understand. I've lost everything. My parents, my home. I can't lose you too."

"But you don't have to lose me, now do you Swan?"

"We can't…I can't…"

"Yes you can. You don't have to do this alone anymore." He watched her with a pained expression. "Now now... Don't cry Lovely. I can't stand to see you cry. Please don't."

"We'd never be safe from her. She'll find us wherever we go."

"That's what you think. That Evil Queen of yours will have to summon all the powers of hell to track us."

"Regina will. She'll never stop. She'll follow me to the ends of the earth."

"Then that's something we have in common."

"She's more powerful than you could ever know. You're risking everything. Your life. Your ship. For what? Some stranger…"

"Not a stranger. My wife." He breathed the word against her skin. "And I'd risk more if I had it."

Emma wiped the tears from her eyes and buried her head against his chest. As Killian held her, the despair that had been creeping over her since she returned to the forest began to recede. She'd always considered despair to be a heated thing, something desperate and frenzied that burned and ached. Something frantic and restless that consumed a person until they were driven to madness. But despair wasn't warm or fiery. It wasn't heated or passionate. Despair was cold—cold as a coffin nail. Something that clawed at you with icy fingers, dragging you to fathomless depths without ever relenting. It was a chill no one could ever guard against and could only be countered with light and warmth and hope and love...everything the man in front of her was offering.

She wouldn't leave him. Somehow she'd always known that. Since their first night together, Emma knew she'd lost her heart to the sailor with the sea-colored eyes, the flashing grins, and the warm touch that stoked a fire she never knew she had burning inside her. He blocked out the cold, kept the endless despair and hopelessness at bay. Now she just had to be willing to fight for him.

"Say something Lovely."

Emma couldn't find the words and somehow knew attempt to speak would result in embarrassed blushes and stammers. She settled for simply nodding against his shoulder, letting out a sigh and wrapping her arms around him.

"Is that a _yes_ , my Swan?"

"No," she muttered stubbornly, hiding her smile. Relief flooded her senses at the idea of never having to let go of him again.

He chuckled as he held her close. "Obstinate little thing, aren't you?"

"Very. And I'm not likely to change. So you'll have to get used to it."

"I think I can manage that."

"Good."

"You know Lovely, I have to tell you… I'm tempted to kiss you right now. Very tempted in fact."

She glanced up at him. "Then why don't you?"

"Because I'm still sore from your last punch, and I'm not sure I'm ready to risk another. Besides, a fellow likes to be courted…"

Emma threaded her hands through his hair and captured his lips before he could finish, feeling the warmth of his breath even as hers caught in her throat. She immediately deepened the kiss and claimed his mouth roughly and possessively. Killian responded in kind, sliding his tongue invitingly against hers, groaning as she pressed closer to him. He felt so good, so wonderfully good. And she needed to feel this. More than anything she needed to feel him.

"Fourteen."

Emma nodded and gripped the back of his neck as she claimed another. A hot ache blossomed under her skin and reverberated with a frenzied urgency that fired in every part of her. Her hands wandered over his body, anxious to feel him, scraping the taut muscles of his chest, tugging at his clothes and tracing the hard lines of his shoulders. Her caresses grew bolder with every passing moment as she cast aside the remaining shreds of her self-restraint.

"More," she pleaded softly. "I need more."

Without a word, he caught her about the waist and backed her against a gnarled tree. They stumbled a bit and landed hard against each other, their laughter quickly cut short by a long languid kiss.

"You all right Lovely?"

"Better than all right," Emma replied in a teasing whisper, nipping at his bottom lip. The bark bit into her back as he lifted her to him. Struggling and straining to get closer, she shifted her hips until they were nestled with his own and she could feel the firm ridges and hard planes of his body. The intimate contact made her breath catch as sinful sensations coursed through her. They began to move enticingly against each other, fighting to find friction, seeking some kind of release. The heat between them nearly overwhelmed her, lighting a low flame beneath her skin that warmed her despite the freezing night air.

"Fifteen."

"Stop counting," she commanded breathlessly. "No more counting."

"Bossy little brat," he murmured with a grin.

"Ill-mannered pirate," she whispered back.

"Lousy thief."

"Reckless fool."

"Stubborn lass."

"Kiss me," Emma muttered. "Stop counting and kiss me." Grabbing his collar, she hauled him to her, her mouth finding his in the shadows. Emma held him tightly, enjoying every moment as he turned her into a moaning, quivering mess with his teeth and tongue and powerful body.

The nameless need stirred again and she groaned as he began to kiss his way down her throat. He cupped the swell of her breasts, using his lips to drag her blouse lower, exposing her skin to the night air and his talented mouth as he nipped and suckled the flesh he found.

"Mmmm. I like that noise," he murmured against her. "Shall we try that again?"

She nodded as he repeated the action, dragging his teeth over her breast. A sigh escaped her swollen lips and a shudder shook its way up her spine.

"Killian...please..." Her eyes closed as a trilling ball of tension tightened within her. She began to crave more. Much more. The ache between her legs was unbearable and she moved against him trying to find relief. She felt the length of his hardness against her thigh, felt her own hips rolling with his in a rough rhythm. Part of her had always known this would feel wonderful with him but she never expected to be so swept away by the sensations he was creating. She wanted to groan and cry and laugh; she held back all three as she pulled him up to face her.

"I think…I need…"

"What Swan? Tell me. What do you need?"

"This. You. Just you." The whispered plea was nearly carried away by the wind, lost somewhere beyond the horizon.

Her eyes closed tightly as he gently lowered them to the ground, settling them beneath the shelter of the overhanging branches. The white winter flowers beneath them began to shed their petals, swirling in the wind with the snowflakes falling overhead. Before she could catch her breath his lips were on hers again. Emma gripped the back of his head, her hands tangling in his dark locks as she roughly returned the kiss. She felt the soft patches of clover against her back as he eased himself over her, urging her legs to wrap around his waist, his hips finding friction with her own as they pressed against each other. She bit her lip to keep from crying out at the shards of pleasure tearing through her. It was a torturous feeling, one that was painful and pleasant and sent shivers through her.

His lips were against her collarbone as he nipped at her throat. "Tell me to stop Swan. Tell me we shouldn't do this."

"Don't stop. Gods you can't." She couldn't tell if she muttered it or merely thought it, lost as she was to the sensations sweeping over her. Her skirt was now gathering around her hips and his hand slid with it, wandering higher and higher until he firmly cupped her backside and thrust his hips into hers. Emma gasped at the sensation, throwing her head back and letting out a soft moan.

Straining to catch her breath, she felt his fingers gliding along her legs, peeling off her stockings and lacy undergarments. She closed her eyes and willed herself to breathe. A rising flush burned her cheeks as his hand drifted along her bare legs and towards her inner thighs. She let out a sigh as he gently touched her, teasing her slick heat. He found a secret spot she didn't know existed and delicately stroked it until her bones turned to liquid and her body rippled and shook.

"Christ Lovely. So wet…so ready for me."

She nodded against him, not quite sure she understood what he meant. She kept her head turned away and her eyes screwed shut as his fingers began gently moving against her and inside her. The painful stretch tightened as a new pressure began to coil in her core. She rolled with the steady movements he set with his hand, rising and falling with him, riding the waves of pleasure he created.

He shifted slightly and everything grew still as his hand disappeared between them. She heard him unlacing and unbuckling his trousers. Before she could begin to blush, he settled back over her, spreading her legs and easing her hips closer to his. There was a strange pressure, something silken but endlessly hard pressing against her center.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers, his hand gripping her waist, his breath coming in choking gasps. "If you don't want this, you have to tell me now. I swear I'll stop. I swear..."

"Don't you dare," she said through gritted teeth as his hard length rubbed against her wet heat, teasing her soft folds. The thought of the steeled part of him filling her aching emptiness was endlessly exciting and frightening. She willed herself take slow deep breaths, amazed at her own eagerness for what was about to happen.

He moved slightly, capturing her lips as he pressed himself inside her. Flashes of light broke out behind her eyelids and a shattering sensation shook her to her core. She cried out in sudden pain and struggled against him as he claimed her maidenhead with a single thrust. Her whole body seemed to tighten and protest against the invasion.

"Easy Lovely, just wait. It'll get better," he whispered against her ear. "I promise…just wait."

"It hurts," she groaned and clenched her fists, wanting to push him away even as the feel of him awoke a heated need within her. "Killian. Please Gods it hurts…"

"Give it a minute. It shouldn't hurt for long my sweet Swan. My love…just lie still…"

Their shared breath warmed the air between them while he whispered reassurances in her ear and trailed soft kisses along her throat. Long motionless moments passed and slowly the pain ebbed as a new tension began to build. This one seemed deeper and darker, endless as the ocean itself. She shifted slightly and waited for the pain to return. Instead of pain, the feel of him stirred something strange and silken within her, something warm and wanting. She began to writhe against him, rocking her hips, needing to move, needing him to move.

He sensed the change and eased his hips gently against hers. She could feel the length of him slowly pumping in and out of her as they began to move in a ragged, uneven rhythm. She held him tightly, tossing roughly beneath him as his lips caught hers, his tongue stroking inside her mouth as he stoked her below.

"Yes...more..." she whispered, hardly knowing what she was asking for, hardly knowing what she wanted. She felt like she was on fire, in the throes of a dark flame that seemed to burn even as she shivered.

"That's it Lovely," he breathed.

She nodded, throwing her head back as she clutched at him, holding him to her. Her heart was racing, her head spinning as the coiled tension began to build to impossible heights. Her hands searched for something, anything, and gripped fistfuls of his hair. The blinding pleasure was painful and perfect. She needed him to stop; she never wanted him to stop.

He pressed himself deeper as sparks of pleasure fired through every part of her. He seemed intent on driving her to the edge of madness, urging her over the precipice with him.

"…please…"

"I've got you," he whispered. Emma wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder.

"…don't stop…" she broke off with a groan, the full measure of her need now assaulting her. She was caught in a rhythm as old as the sea, a rising and falling like the waves against the shore. Her head was spinning with madness and magic as if she were under assault from a dark fire that would consume her entirely.

"Look at me Lovely. Watch me." She found herself staring into his eyes, watching the storms now raging in the deep blue depths. The sound of their heavy breathing filled the air between them as a sudden pulse shook her to her core and she reached a sharp climax. A bright burst of pleasure made her cry out as waves of relief washed over her. She clung to him, her body melting against his as he found his own release and collapsed over her.

Slowly the heat that had overtaken them began to fade, receding like the tide returning to the sea. He gathered her in his lap, his arms around her shoulders, her head resting against his chest. Emma slowly returned to herself bit by bit, piece by piece. She blinked against the dawn's faint light, feeling weak and achy, as though she'd been tossed into rough waters and survived.

His hand cupped her cheek just before he claimed a long lingering kiss. They languidly explored each other's mouths in a gentle embrace that had no beginning and no end. She felt weightless and wonderful. Her body hummed with echoes of pleasure, their shared warmth still thrumming through her.

"My love. My own Swan," he muttered while he kissed her. "My beauty. Never more beautiful than now—curled up against me, all soft, sleepy-eyed and sweet." He brought her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm. She watched his lips move over her hand, suddenly wishing she was still wearing his ring. For a moment she wondered how it would look sparkling in the early morning light.

He rested his forehead against hers. "Did you like it?"

Biting back a shy smile, Emma refused to look at him. Her head was still spinning and the warmth spreading through her had yet to recede. But instead of feeling embarrassed, she grinned as if some secret knowledge was coursing through her. "Yes I did. I liked it."

"Did you really?"

She nodded. A sudden thought came to her and she giggled. Her hand covered her mouth to smother the sound.

"What's so funny?"

Emma smiled softly. "It seems I seduced you after all."

He laughed at that, watching her fondly. "Looks like you did. I consider myself thoroughly seduced."

"Well it's all in a day's work for a master thief. I stole your gold, seduced you, and you never even saw it coming."

"You bested me. That's for certain. Caught me completely off-guard. You've stolen everything now…"

"If you say 'including my heart', I get to punch you again."

He laughed and shook his head. "Ah, ya' are a brat. Look at you—endlessly interrupting my attempts at poetry, running off with my gold and my clothes no less..."

"About your gold," she asked teasingly, "I suppose we're even now."

"Ha. We're far from even Lovely."

"Oh really?"

"Yes really. I'm just getting started with you." Killian sent her a wicked wink as he nuzzled her cheek and kissed a heated trail down her throat. When he asked if she wanted to go back to the inn, she shook her head.

"No. Let's sit here awhile. I want to watch the sunrise."

"As you wish my Swan," he nodded, whispering sweet things to her as the sky turned pink and the clouds began to clear.

Emma stared out over the water and watched the shattered remains of the moonlight disappear over the horizon. For the first time in forever the start of a new day didn't fill her with dread. There was no fear. No hopelessness. She felt safe. More than that, she felt loved.

The faint stars in the distance glittered like gold coins. She counted them as they faded one by one above the breaking dawn.

"Twenty," she muttered when the last star disappeared. The wind carried her voice away. The sound was lost somewhere between the vanishing moonlight and the rising sun.


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue

 _This is very short and unnecessary and takes place a few weeks later._

 _(By-the-by, some readers asked about all the alcohol in the fic...the alcohol was actually a crappy half-thought-out literary device that was supposed to reflect/embody the mood between them and whatnot. Red=passion, black=mystery, beer/rum/brandy= sweetness and fear and fire. Or whatever. They drink. Drinking's fun. It's all very pirate-y)._

 _Thanks for reading and reviewing. The feedback has been more than kind. Stay strong shipmates._

* * *

As the sound of church bells shivered the midnight air, Emma stood in the elegant terrace of her bedroom and gathered her cloak around her. Snow flurries rained down over the landscape, reflecting the veiled moonlight in the silver sky and settling over the rugged blue mountains in the distance. The palatial villa had a fine view of the sea and of the sleepy village nestled in the snowy valley below. It was certainly a far cry from The Black Swan, although the memory of that tumbledown inn would always hold a special place in her heart.

She leaned against the balcony and caught a snowflake in her hand. She felt its cold feathery kiss against her palm as the church bells continued to chime and roasting chestnuts crackled in the fireplace. It seemed everything around her was offering something in the way of Christmas cheer.

Emma didn't turn around at the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, echoing in time with the bells. She closed her eyes as a strong arm locked around her waist and a puff of breath warmed her throat.

"Where have you been?" she asked with a sigh, finding nothing but relief as her husband gathered her to him.

"You said you were thirsty." He placed a goblet in her hand as he nuzzled her. "Try this my love. It'll warm you."

She snuggled against him, enjoying the familiar feel of Killian's body against hers. "I'm already warm enough."

"I can tell." His hand slipped into her cloak and tripped lightly across the beaded silk brocade, his fingertips tracing over the thin lace of her neckline. She felt his lips trail over her neck as his hand dipped beneath the material, grazing the swell of her breasts, teasing her with his touch as his tongue teased her flesh.

"Now who said you could do that?"

"If memory serves, you agreed to it when we were married my Lovely."

"I don't remember _that_ being part of the vows."

"Aye. I'm to love, honor and cherish you…and undress you at every opportunity. I'm a bit surprised you forgot that part."

The red sheen of her ring matched her rising blush as she answered: "I'm surprised too. Not that you'll ever give me the chance to forget."

"Indeed I won't."

Emma tipped back the goblet and sipped the wine. The spicy brew burned its way pleasantly down her throat. She drank it slowly, enjoying the taste, enjoying him, savoring the feel of his hand stroking her soft curves and the sinful sensation of his warm lips against her snow-kissed skin.

"Do you approve of the wine Swan?"

"Mmmmm. I approve of everything."

"That's good to know. Because I don't plan on stopping."

Emma nodded absently, lost to the feel of him against her. She gingerly patted her face and felt the fiery blush that was turning her several shades of scarlet. The spiced wine did warm her, as did the deliberately tortuous movements of Killian's hand and mouth. For a moment she was relieved her back was to him. Even standing in the starlight she could hardly hide the dark blush crawling up her face and neck. She wondered if she'd ever get used to this feeling, this heated hurried tension that set her ablaze whenever they were alone together.

Killian paused for a moment and gestured to the snowy port in front of them. "Look at that view my Swan…what do you see?"

Her eyes searched the seascape. The endless ocean stretched like silk over the horizon, a wide wintery expanse in constant motion. The water was a brilliant shade of aquamarine that shone underneath the starry sky. She couldn't help but think of a pair of eyes that held that same color whenever she stared into them. Emma knew she'd always associate that color with him. The sea and all its beauty would always remind her of the man she'd chosen to share her life with.

"I see the ocean. And the docks."

"And what else?"

Emma squinted as the moonlight cast everything in a bright haloed glow. "I see ships."

"Uh-huh. And look there..." he guided her to a large elegant vessel, sleek and stunning in the moonlight. "Do you know what that is?"

She nodded, immediately recognizing the famous Pegasus figurehead and black sails. "That's the Flying Dutchman."

"Aye," he paused to press a kiss to her cheek, "That she is. But more importantly, she's ours Swan."

"What do you mean?" Emma turned around to face him, her eyes wide with surprise.

"She belongs to us now."

"You bought the Flying Dutchman?"

He nodded, a proud grin on his face. "Think of it as a wedding present."

"But what about the Jolly?"

"I traded her."

"You traded... what!?"

He shrugged. "We needed another vessel. Something more accommodating to the merchant life I'm to lead now. In any case, the Dutchman has much more suitable quarters for your parents. Once we find them, that is."

"You traded your ship?" Emma asked, amazed. "But the Jolly's your home. You love her!"

" _You're_ my home," he corrected with a smile. "And it wouldn't do, my wife aboard a pirate ship. We've got much more important business to attend to than mere piracy: finding your parents, taking back a kingdom...and a honeymoon to finish. We can't forget that, now can we?"

Emma stared at the massive ship floating in the waters of the bay. "I can't believe it."

"You'll like her once you're aboard, Swan. I promise you will."

She searched for words that wouldn't come. "I don't know what to say...Killian Jones of the Flying Dutchman." She repeated it, shaking her head, unable to wrap her mind around it. "I suppose it'll take some getting used to."

He rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. "Errr…that's not quite right though."

"What isn't right?"

"Well, the name Killian Jones garners little favor amongst the merchant class. I had to purchase her and secure the crew using another name…David."

"David?" She stared at him.

"Aye. It's my middle name. Not bad really." He gave a slight bow and shy smile, as if introducing himself. "Davy Jones. Captain of the Flying Dutchman. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Her mouth fell open as she gazed at him, amazed. She knew she should be laugh about the strangeness of it, or chide him about keeping things from her, or torment him about his sudden new name. But somehow she wasn't able to. She couldn't laugh at him. Not about this. He loved his ship. He loved the Jolly. And now it was gone. He'd given it up for her. He traded his ship just for the chance of making her happy. Making his wife happy…

"Emma, say something. Tell me what you're thinking. Go on. Tell me."

She shook her head. "I hope you don't mind…"

"What?"

"…But I think I like Killian better."

He let out a chuckle as he traced the apple of her cheek with his fingertip. "Well, I'll always be Killian to you."

"And I'll always be your Swan." She smiled warmly as she drew closer. "I still can't believe it. You traded your ship for me."

"For us." He nodded. "And it seemed the proper thing to do. If I'm to be a respectable-type gentlemen, I have to have a respectable vessel."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh? And since when do pirates care about being respectable?"

"Since never. But seeing as how I'm married, I'll need to be a fine gentlemen with prospects, isn't that how these things work?"

"I have no idea." Emma gave a prim smile, looking up at him with a mock disinterest. "Besides, who'd want to marry you?"

"No one in her right mind," he admitted with a grin. "She'd have to be crazy. Probably some harried little brat who likes to put me in my place."

"Probably." Emma bit her lip trying to hide her smile.

"Blonde and stubborn, who couldn't hold her liquor if her life depended on it. With a terrible Irish accent and a hell've a punch…"

"That sounds about right."

He cupped her cheek and gazed at her fondly. "And I'll love her more than anything. More than my own life. And I'll do anything to make her happy and make sure she's safe."

"I am happy." She stood on her tiptoes and planted a soft kiss on his lips. "You make me happy."

He gathered her to him, claiming her lips and returning the kiss ardently. His fingers traced the delicate line of her throat, twisting the golden locks that turned white against the moonlight. His mouth teased and tormented hers, his eyes glinting as his hand tripped over the light fabric of her dress, leaving a fiery trail as his fingers kneaded the soft swell of her breast. His hook tugged at the ties of her gown, gently loosening the ribbons and bows.

"Tell me again Lovely. Say the words..."

Her eyes fluttered shut as she said it, the phrase he always seemed eager to hear. The whispered words were carried away by the wind, floating amongst the starlight and sea air. The familiar ache was already pressing against her skin and became more urgent as their caresses grew desperate and hurried.

They stumbled backwards into the bedroom, graceless and giggling. She felt her cloak fall to the floor before the goblet slipped from her hand. She held him to her, trying to focus on the maddening task of undressing him but finding it increasingly difficult as his mouth nipped and suckled her throat. Her hands alternated between tangling in his dark hair and roughly undoing his shirt as the embrace became all-consuming and passionate.

"Say it again," he whispered, slipping her dress down her body and kissing her bare shoulders. "Say it once more."

"Twenty," she muttered teasingly, hiding her smile.

"Not that, brat." He chuckled against her.

"I love you," she repeated softly, her smile shining brighter than the moon over the harbor. In the distance the rising moonlight cast a faint silver light over them as their lips met again and again. While the stars shone over the horizon, a soft breeze from the south swept over them, bringing the promise of an early spring and the hope for a happy ending.

The end.


End file.
